


(Revel)ations

by idleside



Series: Triplicity [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (in the roleplay), (light), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Susan Bones, Breast Fucking, Breast Smothering (light), Casual Sex, Choking, Come Shot, Comeplay, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Creampie, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Duelling, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fantasizing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Flying, Foursome - F/F/F/M, Group Sex, Handcuffs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Lord Black, Lesbian Sex, Magical Combat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Open Relationships, POV Multiple, Party, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Rimming, Roleplay, Romance, Rough Sex, Scissoring, Sexual Roleplay, Slice of Life, Slytherin Politics, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/M, Verbal Sparring, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), post-sex conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 120,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idleside/pseuds/idleside
Summary: Daphne, Harry, and Pansy attend a series of social events, where they finally let their friends know about their relationship.Of course, the members of this trio have their /own/ celebrations in private.Meanwhile, Daphne's father - Lord Cyrus Greengrass - pursues his own plots and schemes in the background, which might wind up impacting the trio if they don't work against him in their own ways.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Daphne Greengrass/Padma Patil, Daphne Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter, Daphne Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson/Padma Patil/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Series: Triplicity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465702
Comments: 438
Kudos: 515
Collections: Folie A Trois Full Fics, Sexy Steamy Stories





	1. Banquet

Harry

“This was a mistake,” Pansy snarled, “I was a fool to agree with it. No, actually, it’s yours and Daphne’s fault, for tricking me into thinking that this would work out.”

“Pans,” Harry chuckled, “you’ll be fine.”

“I absolutely will _not_ be fine,” she grumbled, “this is stupid. A farce. A complete and utter disaster in the making.”

Harry reached down to squeeze one of her arms (folded petulantly across her chest) in reassurance. Pansy always had a flair for the somewhat _theatrical,_ but no more than when she was nervous, he’d come to learn.

He certainly understood why she was feeling this way, especially given her history, but Harry had faith both in her and in the people that were awaiting them inside.

“Fine, let’s march to my fucking execution,” Pansy _harrumphed_ , “can’t wait to spend the next couple hours hearing about how terrible I am.”

“You’re brilliant,” Harry hushed her, then knocked on the door they were standing in front of. It only took a few moments before it swung open, revealing Harry’s _other_ girlfriend.

“Hey,” Daphne smiled, “everyone’s inside. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed, speaking over whatever muttered protest Pansy was about to launch into once again.

 _It’s really far from the worst situation either of us have ever dealt with,_ Harry mused, _but I guess Pansy’s probably never done this before._

He passed Daphne the bottle of wine he’d brought, and followed her deeper into the house: the event of the evening was just a simple dinner party, hosted at Ron and Astoria’s, with a couple of Daphne’s friends in attendance.

It was _also_ the occasion where the trio planned to reveal their relationship to these select friends, so Harry could understand why Pansy was in such a state: three people all dating each other wasn’t exactly the most conventional form of a relationship, Pansy surely had _some_ sort of past with Daphne’s friends (considering they’d all been in the same year of Slytherin together), and Ron had never really gone beyond “resigned tolerance” of Pansy’s presence.

Entering the kitchen, Harry quickly took account of the other hosts and guests gathered within. Ron was meandering around near the stove, having apparently volunteered to be in charge of preparing the dinner, while his wife, Astoria, was already seated at the table. Her pregnancy hadn’t quite begun to show yet, but she was also dressed more comfortably than Harry was used to seeing her. The other two guests – also a couple – were familiar enough sights, even if Harry couldn’t recall speaking more than a few words to either over the course of Hogwarts.

Theodore ( _he prefers “Theo”_ , Harry recalled) Nott Jr. had definitely changed since those school days: where he’d once been somewhat rat-like in appearance, he now had something of a Muggle rock-star vibe about him. The man was still small and slightly built, his hair was piled in a wavy tangle at the top of his head and shaved short on the side (rather than long and oiled, as Harry remembered), and most importantly he looked _relaxed_ rather than nervous and sneering.

Harry hadn’t really interacted with Tracey Davis in school, but he’d certainly heard enough about her from Daphne to have a decent-enough grasp of her personality: she tended to be quiet, was studious but not particularly obsessive about it, and balanced “kindness” with “pragmatism” in a careful way.

 _Probably needed to,_ Harry thought. Tracey was a so-called “Half-Blood”, daughter to a Muggle mother, and had the foresight to have fled Britain before the start of their seventh year, avoiding the fallout that her particular status would have brought down on her in a Death Eater-run Hogwarts.

Theo, meanwhile, had left Britain _after_ the war: he was one of the number of Slytherin students who sat out the final battle in the dungeons, aiding neither the Death Eaters nor the defenders of Hogwarts. This didn’t exactly _impress_ Harry, but he supposed that he could understand why Theo would have been hesitant to go into combat against his Death Eater father.

 _Besides,_ Harry thought with an internal smirk, _can’t exactly hold that against him. My girlfriend_ did _try and get me killed, after all._

“Harry, mate!” Ron called out, turning from his task at the stove, “glad you could make it!”

“Cheers, mate,” Harry agreed, returning Ron’s awkward, oven-mitted handshake, “smashing apron.”

“Heh,” Ron chuckled, posing to show off the chef’s apron he was wearing: an objectively _hideous_ design of purple and silver sparkles, with “MAKIN’ MAGIC” emblazoned in rhinestones across the top, above a cartoon pan surrounded by stars. “Christmas gift from Luna. I think it’s rather dashing, yeah?”

“As an expert, I can decisively say it is _not_ ,” Pansy drawled from behind Harry.

“Ah, welcome, Parkinson,” Ron rolled his eyes, “I almost didn’t see you sneak in here. It’s a good thing I invited you, Harry, I couldn’t be the _only_ one here who wasn’t a Slytherin. Sorry about the, er, seventh-wheeling and all.”

 _Not quite, mate,_ Harry chuckled, brushing off the comment with an offer to help Ron with his cooking. Daphne hadn’t exactly been _transparent_ about who she was bringing to dinner: she had gently prodded Ron into inviting Harry rather than bringing him as her own guest, one of the little social plots that she and Pansy _still_ engaged in.

His girlfriends had – ridiculously, in Harry’s opinion – come up with a whole _set_ of contingencies, different plans to reveal that Daphne was dating Harry, or dating Pansy, depending on the initial reception from Tracey, Theo, Ron, and Astoria. Harry, of course, had bulled his way through these carefully-woven narratives: if their friends didn’t seem receptive to their relationship (which included _all three_ of them), that was their loss, and there was nothing to gain from trying to hide _part_ of the trio.

“Harry, come have a seat!” Astoria called out, dashing his own plan to busy himself with helping Ron. He joined the table, seated across from Daphne, Tracey, and Theo, and at a corner to Pansy.

“How’s work?” Astoria asked, sipping from a glass of water that was practically overflowing with mint leaves.

“Ah, business is slow these days,” Harry shrugged, measuring his reply. _Theo wasn’t marked,_ he recalled, _but it still might be a bit risky to shoot off with “oh, you know, throwing dark wizards in jail” or something like that._

“Not all of us are as business-minded as Pansy or Theo,” Daphne interjected, clearly prodding Harry to follow up with the latter.

“That so?” Harry poured himself a glass of wine, “what are you up to, these days, Theo?”

“Ah, I uh,” Theo stammered, clearly nervous himself, “I run a potions shop. Custom-brewed potions are all the rage in Brooklyn right now, it’s been surprisingly popular.”

“What’re the greatest hits?” Harry asked, sipping his wine. He recalled that Theo had pointedly _not_ been part of the “Slug Club” when it was in full swing, his _family associations_ keeping him from that opportunity.

“They’re really into draughts of dreaming,” Theo seemed to gain confidence as he spoke, “tailored to specific experiences, the ‘celebrity’ or ‘Quodpot star’ dreams are big right now.”

“Sounds kind of like you’re dealing drugs,” Pansy observed, smirking.

“Well, the American Wizards _are_ really, really big fans of psychedelics,” Tracey agreed, speaking up for the first time, and also not rising to Pansy’s bait.

“I’m surprised you didn’t wind up in potions yourself, Pansy,” Theo didn’t seem quite as forgiving, “I recall that you had some talent for them at school. Then again, given your other talents at Hogwarts, I suppose that people would’ve been too scared you’d poison them.”

“Didn’t you hear, _Theodore?_ ” Pansy took a slow drink of her wine, “you’re not the only one who rehabilitated themselves after seventh year. Why, I dare say I’m pretty much on the _heroic_ side of things now.”

“Put the fangs away,” Daphne’s rebuke was gentle, “I think we’re all a lot better off now than we were back then.”

“Most of us, for sure,” Ron approached the table, several plates floating in front of him at the end of his wand, “Pansy’s just as _pleasant_ as ever, though.”

Harry winced. _Not the greatest start, Pans._

“Ah, Ronald,” Pansy smirked again, “we’re all set in our ways, yeah? Take your fashion sense, for example.”

“I gotta say, Daph,” Theo grinned, a glint of something almost cruel in his eyes, “I’m a bit surprised. Thought you might take a bit more inspiration from ‘Stori, rather than rehashing your previous dating preferences.”

 _Fucking Slytherins,_ Harry thought, glancing at Ron for support. Unfortunately, Ron seemed all-too-happy to sit back and watch the argument develop, calmly plating a serving of potatoes for himself.

“Ah, well, yes,” Daphne stammered, looking down at the table, “I… I guess I kinda did, yeah?”

There was a moment of quiet, interrupted by Astoria snorting loudly, before actually breaking out into a laugh.

“You _would!_ ” Astoria cried out, cheerfully. “I should have known!”

The others at the table looked around in confusion, apparently not having reached the same conclusion that Astoria had.

“Right, well,” Daphne looked up from her fidgeting, and Harry could see how she steeled herself, “Tracey? Theo? I did say I’d be introducing you to who I’m dating now, but that wasn’t quite accurate, I guess. You already know Pansy, of course, my _girlfriend_.”

Harry took a _healthy_ swig of his wine, setting his glass down.

“I suppose what I meant by introductions,” Daphne smiled cautiously, “is that neither of you really know my _boyfriend_ , Harry.”

There was a clatter as Ron dropped his fork against his plate, goggling with wide eyes between Harry, Pansy, Daphne, and back to Harry.

“Rather progressive, innit?” Pansy drawled, spearing a sausage from a serving dish with her fork, “see, Theo, I _have_ become more open-minded.”

“But…” Ron’s eyes remained as wide as his own dinner plate, “that’s, uh, how does that even work?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Harry shrugged, “maybe not the most conventional way of doing things, but that’s never really been my style, yeah?”

“Took you long enough,” Astoria had a wide grin on her face, her eyes practically _sparkling_ with curiosity, “I’ve always thought that you and Harry would like each other. I’m surprised, though, Pansy, I always figured you’d be the jealous type.”

“What’ve I got to be jealous of?” Pansy smirked, “Potter?”

“What Pansy means is,” Harry stared across the table at her, where Pansy merely raised an eyebrow tauntingly, “there’s not really much cause to be jealous, we’re dating too.”

If Ron looked shocked before, his expression now was positively _flabbergasted._

“That does seem better,” Tracey agreed, the quiet woman’s seeming endorsement coming as a pleasant surprise, “y’know, that’s a common-enough thing over in the states, yeah?”

“How’s that?” Astoria asked, as she reached to pat her husband’s arm, Ron continuing to flick his gaze rapidly between each of the three in this recently-revealed trio.

“Well, they’ve got a whole _bunch_ more witches than they do wizards,” Tracey shrugged, unbothered, “it’s some kind of magic of the land, yeah? They’ve been big into covens ever since Salem.”

“Merlin, Harry,” Ron finally spoke, “you’re going to bring _Pansy_ to Christmas at the burrow, aren’t you?”

Harry smiled; his grin wide.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

The rest of dinner passed fairly uneventfully, the mood lifting and hostilities finally starting to fade away as Daphne’s friends (and Ron) got a grasp of her relationship. Harry also got the chance to get to know these aforementioned friends better, and he quickly came to understand why Daphne was so close with them.

Theo was _sharp_ in a way that honestly wasn’t dissimilar from Pansy, quick-witted and sarcastic, but more self-effacing than Harry’s girlfriend was. Tracey _almost_ reminded Harry of Hermione at times, especially when she got into a topic of magical history, which she taught classes in at a magical college in New York. From what Harry understood, apparently post-secondary education was more traditional across the Atlantic, which gave him some degree of pause when he remembered that – by an equivalent comparison – he technically hadn’t finished high school.

As Ron began clearing the plates from the table, Harry noticed that his friend kept flicking his gaze to his own wrist, where he wore a watch that displayed a curious time of “550:520”.

“Darling,” Astoria interrupted, “why don’t you go put the game on. Daph, Trace, and I have some catching up to do.”

Ron was all-too-eager to agree to this, excitedly turning to Harry.

“I’ve got the scry-o-vision working!” Ron announced, “wanna watch?”

“The what?” Pansy interjected, “you can _watch_ games?”

“Yeah,” Ron puffed himself up, “I’ve got the radio synchronized with a scrying mirror, it’s basically the next best thing to a ‘tee-vee’, like the Muggles have.”

Harry smirked as he saw Pansy’s interest piqued by this announcement: she was a bigger fan of Quidditch than either Daphne or himself, and one of her (numerous) complaints had been that she’d be missing her Magpies playing against the Cannons in order to attend this dinner party.

Following Pansy and Ron into Ron’s lounge, with Theo meandering behind him, Harry’s smirk turned into a contended smile as he heard Ron and Pansy talking Quidditch in quick, excited sentences.

“They aren’t bad,” Ron admitted, “Johnson’s a hell of a chaser, but you’ve got no seeker worth their broom is all.”

“Story of the Magpies, that,” Pansy drawled, “not that your Cannons are any better. What’s the score, anyways?”

“Five-eighty Chudley, Five-thirty Montrose,” Ron answered, after glancing at his wrist again, “it’s been going for the last three hours, now.”

“Fuck,” Pansy swore, “maybe I’ll have to switch to the Harpies after all.”

“Oh?” Ron asked, “y’know my sister plays for them, yeah?”

“She’s one of my best customers, you know,” Pansy smirked, and Harry saw a hint of genuine pride in her expression.

“I’m gonna nip outside,” Harry announced, “catch you in a few minutes.”

As he strolled out to one of the balconies in Ron and Astoria’s house, Harry fished in his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He’d found that he had less desire to smoke lately, but still indulged himself now and then – _after all, it’s not like I can get cancer,_ he mused, one of the numerous ways that magic-users had advantages over their Muggle counterparts.

“Mind if I join you?” Theo’s voice came from behind him, and Harry waved him outside acceptingly.

A few moments passed quietly as Theo lit his own cigarette, staring contemplatively out from the balcony.

“So,” Theo finally spoke, “I’m going to ask this once, and then I’m fine dropping it forever.”

 _Shite._ Harry wasn’t sure where this could lead.

“Did you kill my father?” Theo asked.

Harry stopped himself from going for his wand, forcing himself to tamp down on the paranoid instincts that his _experiences_ had instilled in him: Theo didn’t seem angry, or as if he was going to attack Harry based on his answer.

“I’m…” Harry cautiously began to reply. “I’m not sure.” _Probably. It was either me or Ernie._ “There was a lot happening, I know I exchanged spells with him, but I can’t say whether or not I landed the final blow.” A memory of a hastily-cast bone-breaker curse in Nott Sr.’s direction came to mind.

“Too bad,” Theo shrugged, “I’d shake your hand, or whoever finally did it, if I knew.”

“Uh,” Harry scratched at the back of his head with his empty hand, “Why do you ask?”

“After the war,” Theo turned to Harry, and he could see a distant, sad look in the other man’s eyes, “I had to be careful. I went through as many reports, as many claims as I could find, making sure that anyone who might come after me and Tracey was _dealt with_ by someone.”

Theo took a long drag of his cigarette before continuing.

“I don’t know if you care enough to find out, but if it _was_ you…” the other man shrugged, in a tight, awkward way, “you could claim House Nott, if you wanted. I’m abdicating it, while I’m back here again.”

_Ah. That shite again._

“Frankly,” Harry shrugged in turn, “I don’t honestly care, yeah. Nothing personal, but two houses is plenty for me, and I gave up my Rights of Conquest anyways.”

“That’s fair,” Theo grinned, a hint of sadness in the expression, “I completely understand not wanting anything to do with all that political bullshite. I rather expect I’ll get a howler or two after I dissolve my own house. Still, that’s a lot to give up. Why didn’t you lay your claim?”

“Gave it away,” Harry grimaced, “I had debts to repay, and the Conquest claims seemed a fair way of doing so.”

 _The goblins certainly fucking thought so,_ Harry recalled, _went from being a “non-authorized Gringotts client” to “Friend of the Goblin Nation” with that exchange._

“Heh,” Theo chuckled, “it’s hard to imagine anyone seeing House Dolohov, and whatever others you accrued, as a ‘gift’.”

“Yeah.” Harry agreed. He certainly didn’t care to dig through whatever dark secrets that house, or others, had contained.

“You doing any of that Pureblood shite?” Theo asked, “the Wizengamot and what not? You’ve got some pretty impressive titles, after all.”

“I’m handling it,” Harry shrugged, “well, that is, Daphne taught me how to assign a delegate. Hermione’s handling it.”

“Hah,” Theo grinned, “that sounds fitting. Still, convenient for you, being able to get married to _both_ of your girlfriends, if you get that far.”

“I, uh,” Harry licked his lips nervously, finally noticing how Theo was plying him for information _and_ evaluating whether he approved of Harry dating Daphne at the same time, “well, we kind of started, uh, seeing each other before I ever found out about that little Pureblood thing.”

“I’ve got to admit,” Theo flicked his cigarette into the air, where it vanished from sight with a _pop_ , “you’re more down-to-earth than I pictured. I still hear about you, even across the ocean, y’know.”

“That’s mental,” Harry muttered, “I’m not anything special.”

“Nah,” Theo fixed him with his gaze, “you’ve got to be, or Daph wouldn’t be dating you. Then again, Pansy…”

“Pansy’s great,” Harry insisted.

“I’m assuming she’s come around, but, well,” Theo shrugged, “I won’t sugar-coat it, I never liked her. None of us are snotty little teenagers any more, maybe she’s changed, but I was more worried when I thought that Daph was seeing _just_ Pansy than I was when you all announced that it was the three of you.”

“She has,” Harry agreed, “and I think I’m a fair judge of that, given, you know, Pans tried to have me killed and all.”

There was a moment of tension, before Theo chuckled at Harry’s boldness.

“You’re alright, Harry,” Theo extended his hand, “I almost wish we’d been friends earlier, but my father would have _literally_ killed me for it. Still, no time like the present, yeah?”

Harry shook his hand, agreeing.

“Now, I think I’m going to watch some Quidditch,” Theo made his way inside, leaving Harry to finish what remained of his own cigarette, “good chat, Potter.”

* * *

“Can’t say I saw it coming, but,” Ron smiled, “for what it counts, I’m happy for you, mate.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry grinned in response.

“Wasn’t exactly a secret that I thought you and Daph would be a good match,” Ron shook his hand, “Pansy’s a bit of a surprise, but she seems a lot better than she used to be. Knows a lot about Quidditch.”

 _Heh, that_ would _be the factor that won you over._

“I’m surprised you didn’t go off about snakes or some such,” Harry joked.

“Ah, times change,” Ron released their handshake, nodding thoughtfully, “after all, _Draco’s_ part of my family now. I’m _happy_ about that. Could you have imagined, when we were in Hogwarts?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted, “but it feels a lot better this way, not being at each others’ throats all the time.”

“I was kind of joking, earlier,” Ron continued, “but Pansy is actually welcome at Christmas, yeah? Mum might have a bit of a fit, but I’m sure even she’ll be okay with that whole three-person-relationship thing after she sees you all around each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ron seemed to be getting _emotional,_ of all times to do so, “I’m seriously, actually happy for you. _You_ look happy. Haven’t seen _that_ in years.”

“I am,” Harry admitted, “it’s… good.”

“Besides,” Ron waggled his eyebrows, “ _two_ girlfriends? Nothing less for the golden boy, am I right?”

“Sod off,” Harry chuckled, “don’t get jealous just because you’re old and married.”

“If there’s anything Weasley should be jealous about,” Pansy interrupted, making her own approach to the doorway, “it’s that his team got _thrashed_ after we started watching.”

“There’s always next match,” Ron shrugged, “and it’s _Greengrass-_ Weasley, technically.”

“You two will get home safe, yeah?” Daphne now entered the conversation, a wine-granted blush on her cheeks, “Tracey, ‘Stori and I are going to stay up late, like the sleepovers we used to have, or I’d come with.”

“Totally fine, Daph,” Harry assured her, “you all have fun, I’ll make sure Miss Parkinson doesn’t attack anyone on the way home.”

“You wish, Potter,” Pansy teased, “it’d give you an excuse to arrest someone instead of doing paperwork.”

Daphne threw her arms around both of their shoulders in a casual embrace, kissing Pansy, then Harry on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “you were both brilliant.”

“Night, Daphne,” Harry smiled, “we’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, sweet,” Pansy smirked beside him, as two of the trio said the rest of their goodbyes, departing Ron and Astoria’s house. Theo and Tracey were, apparently, staying in one guest bedroom, Daphne in the other.

“I was pretty good tonight, right?” Pansy asked, as she linked her arm through Harry’s.

“Brilliant,” Harry teased, “didn’t hex anyone.”

“Glad to hear,” Pansy fixed her gaze to his, pulling him down towards her, kissing him _fiercely,_ “because I’ve had just about enough of being the good girl tonight.”

“That so?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” Pansy kissed him once more, quickly, “now apparate us home, Harry, because I’m going to fuck your _brains out_.”

Harry thought that was a _perfect_ plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the Triplicity setting!
> 
> This will be a fairly brief fic, mostly just covering the recent developments in the trio's relationship - a lot of fluff, a healthy portion of smut, and little bits of plot (and allusions to future developments) hidden between the lines!
> 
> As always, reviews, reactions, questions, and suggestions are all welcome!


	2. Feast (Harry/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy end the evening together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, then fluff!

Pansy

Pansy kicked off her heels, hung up her coat, and waited impatiently for the moment that it took Harry to do the same. As soon as he was shoeless, she _leapt_ at him, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso, silencing his grunt of surprise by crushing her lips against his. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, she shoved her tongue into his mouth, meeting his own in a _thoroughly_ enjoyable battle.

Harry began to walk up the stairs to his bedroom, carrying Pansy as if she was weightless in his arms, his firm grip under her arse sending a little thrill through her every time her position shifted. Though Harry wasn’t exactly a giant of a man, he was more than strong enough to throw Pansy around like a doll if he wanted, and this night, _she_ wanted him to do just that.

When he began to deposit her onto his bed, she hooked her legs into the back of his, pulling him down on top of her, enjoying the way that their bodies crashed together. She separated their lips only long enough to give him a single command:

“Trousers off.”

Harry smirked at her, his gaze smoldering, as he began to fuss with his belt – the task not made any easier by the way that Pansy kept his hips pressed against her with the grip of her legs. For her own part, she reached down the front of her dress, undoing the clasp of her bra ( _good call on choosing the front-closing one, Pansy,_ she internally commended herself), hiking the top of her dress down and the bottom up so that it sat askew on her midsection.

As Harry shuffled out of his trousers, she trailed her nails up and down his torso, still hidden by his shirt. Losing patience, she propped herself up, grabbing Harry’s shirt by the collar and _tearing,_ opening it even as buttons popped off and bounced along his bedroom floor.

“Eager, are we?” Harry spoke, pushing her onto her back once again, tossing his ruined shirt away even as he loomed over her.

In lieu of a verbal response, she grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head down to hers roughly.

“Me too,” he groaned, one of his hands gripping her hip tightly. He hooked his fingers under the band of her thong, and tore it aside with equal vigour as she’d divested him of his shirt.

Pansy bit his bottom lip – a bit too hard to be considered “playful” – and Harry hissed as he reached between their bodies to line his cock up with her entrance. She made a guttural, pleased sound as he pushed into her _hard_ , the slightest twinge of pain she felt only enhancing the sensation of his manhood filling her.

 _He really does know what I like,_ Pansy mused, her mind only slightly wandering even as Harry began to thrust into her, their hips _slapping_ together as her legs began to splay open. _Needs to take initiative more often, still, but he’s much better at getting rough without worrying about hurting me every few minutes._

In the pre-“relationship” days of their relationship, Pansy had felt the occasional bouts of insecurity over this aspect of Harry’s nature, but now she had a much better grasp of the man: it wasn’t that he didn’t want her, or was only going along with what _she_ wanted, it was just that he was somehow content with pretty much any form that their sex took.

It still vexed Pansy somewhat, because in their explorations so far she’d found that Harry’s boundaries in terms of kinks lined up quite well with her own, and yet it was _Daphne_ – the somewhat less-kinky member of their triad – who more often took the prerogative to try something new or suggest what she wanted to experiment with.

Though she definitely wouldn’t _complain,_ and Harry’s whole “not a pushover, but happy to let Pansy or Daphne lead” approach was quite satisfying for her more domineering tendencies, she was still trying to coax Harry into absolutely _dominating_ her, and so far, _this_ seemed like a promising beginning.

Pansy bucked her hips up into Harry just as he was completing a down-stroke, slamming their sexes together with an audible _slap_ , exalting in the way that Harry groaned into her mouth even as she sucked on his tongue. His hands moved from their position at either side of her to her hips, and it was Pansy’s turn to moan when Harry shoved her further into the bed, pushing her up towards the headboard.

“Is that all you’ve got, Potter?” she taunted, as she reached behind herself, propping herself up on her hands and tightening the grip that her legs had around Harry’s pelvis. Harry, for his own part, reached under her to grasp her arse, pulling her against himself with force as he resumed thrusting.

“You don’t seem to be complaining,” he responded, and she saw the lust in his eyes as he watched her tits bouncing under their combined efforts to hump against each other. _Don’t blame him, I truly do have spectacular tits,_ she smugly thought.

“Well, I’m the one fucking _you_ , after all,” Pansy drawled, increasing the pace that she was pushing her hips up and down against him – while pointedly ignoring the fact that this position was only possible because Harry was supporting most of her weight, of course.

“Are you, now?” Harry smirked, and Pansy’s heart raced, thinking “ _finally_ ” to herself when he shifted his weight.

He pulled her tight against himself even as he pulled back, which dragged her forward to _flump_ onto her back once more, Harry now looming over her rather than the nearly-eye-level position they’d previously held. His hands roughly gripped her thighs, peeling her legs off from their wrap around his hips, and then he pushed her legs back, the tops of her thighs coming to rest against her own torso.

When Harry leaned forward, now pinning her in place with his size alone, all she could think was _“fuck yes”_. He crushed his lips against hers as he began to piston in and out of her, her legs trapped between their bodies so that she was practically folded in half, his thrusts hitting deeper and deeper as he continued to contort her.

 _I feel small, vulnerable,_ she thought, hazily, _but **not** weak. _If anything was a new discovery for Pansy in the various forms of sex that Daphne, Harry, and herself had explored, it was precisely this: the concept of _romantic_ rough sex, letting one of her partners control her body not because Pansy wanted to feel _used_ , but because she was _trusting_ them.

Any further musing was driven from her mind in a flash of white, when Harry hit a spot _deep_ inside of her, her entire body spasming and then going still as she processed the sensation.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, slowing his thrusts.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” she spat, one of her hands going to his hair and _tugging_ hard, the other going to his back, digging her nails into his flesh.

“Fuck,” Harry grunted, reacting _exactly_ like she wanted him to, beginning to fuck her _hard_ , putting actual strength behind his motions. A torrent of various profanities began to spill from Pansy’s lips with every time that he hit that part deep inside her, and by the time that Harry figured out the correct angle to reach it with _every_ thrust, her mind had gone blank.

“Cum,” Harry ordered, and she _did_. **_Hard_**.

When her thoughts returned, she noted that Harry had relaxed, still inside her, but no longer thrusting. Her legs had been released from their position trapped against her chest, and Harry was now resting his weight on his own knees, rather than on top of _her_.

 _Fucking… considerate and caring bullshit, fuck._ Pansy’s thoughts hadn’t _quite_ returned to full lucidity.

Her desires, however, didn’t require her intellect to be made clear.

Pansy swatted at Harry’s face, her hand finding purchase at the side of his neck, where she immediately tightened her grip: not really a _choke_ , per se, but close enough that it sent the same message.

“Who fucking told you to stop?” Pansy actually _growled_ ; her words slightly slurred from the lingering remnants of her orgasm.

“Wel-“ Harry started some sort of retort, and Pansy shut him up by jamming her thumb between his lips. _If you’re not going to fuck me however you want to,_ she thought, _I’m going to do it for you._

Guiding him by the digit she had in his mouth, she pulled him to the side, rolling them over so that she was now on top of him. His cock had popped free of her in the change of position, so she reached down, lining him up, then sitting on him _hard,_ sheathing his entire length inside herself in one motion.

As she began to rock her hips back and forth, Pansy pulled her thumb out of his mouth, then slapped Harry across the face with the same hand: once again, not hard enough to _hurt_ , but enough that he couldn’t mistake her message.

 _“Get rough with me”_ were, of course, the unspoken words that she told him, “ ** _now_**.”

One of his hands went to her hips, stopping her back-and-forth motion, while the other went to her hair in a flash, his fingers gripping at her scalp, hauling her face back down to his. Pansy resisted the urge to coo in pleasure at his response, but failed entirely at withholding a moan when Harry took _her_ bottom lip between his teeth.

Instead of her riding him, the position had turned to Harry thrusting up against Pansy, holding her still with both the hand in her hair and his grip on her hip, though he certainly took the opportunity to spank her every few moments, the _crack_ of the impact echoing over the moans and curses that Pansy was uttering with even _greater_ frequency.

Her second orgasm of the night was not _quite_ as powerful as the first, but it was a near contest: her body went stiff over him, and a noise halfway between a whimper and a scream tore from her throat as pleasure surged through her body.

Once more, though, Harry had slowed his own thrusts during her climax, and Pansy huffed at the fact that he wasn’t prioritizing himself enough.

_Time to fix that._

“Mm,” she rolled off of him, “that was _quite_ acceptable _._ ”

“Was?” Harry asked huskily, repositioning over her again, but she kept her legs together, frustrating his attempt to continue.

“I came twice,” Pansy answered, putting a barely-hidden taunt into her tone as she locked eyes with him, “I fail to see what else is necessary.”

“Well, I, uh,” Harry’s gaze flicked down to his erection, practically _throbbing_ in the way it jut from him, “I… are we done?”

_Merlin’s sake, Potter._

“Harry,” her voice was now as sultry as she could possibly manage, “you made _me_ cum. Why don’t you make _yourself_ cum now?”

Pansy could practically see the gears turning in his head as he gripped his erection, giving himself a couple hesitant strokes as he looked down at her, apparently thinking that he meant he should simply _masturbate_ to his own orgasm.

 _Hmm,_ she thought, _that might be a fun scenario later, but take the fucking hint, Harry._

Pansy arched one eyebrow as she pressed her elbows inward, pushing her breasts together and creating a valley of cleavage.

“Actually,” Harry replied, _finally cluing in_ , “I think you’re going to help me with that.”

He shuffled up closer to her, his cock now pointed towards her face. Pansy gasped a moan as Harry’s hand returned to her hair, pulling her lips towards his practically _twitching_ member. Pansy didn’t bother supressing the moan that escaped around Harry’s cock as he pressed it into her mouth, the motion of his hips met equally by the way that he pulled her head into his groin.

_Fuck._

Of the many ways in which Pansy was a contradiction in sexual activities, this was perhaps the most obvious that she was aware of: she _loved_ to suck cock, but in her previous experiences with other men, had always resented that it was seen as an _expectation._

Harry, of course, was entirely too noble and would never _demand_ head, which only made her want to suck his cock more.

Her head swam pleasurably as Harry began to fuck her face, making sure to slurp and lick at his cock every time he pulled back, his motions slow and careful even though his grip on her hair was _delightfully_ tight.

A thrill ran through her as Harry pulled back, watching her saliva dripping from his cock, as he swung one of his legs over her to straddle her chest. Pansy absolutely _loved_ the look on his face, eyes hooded with lust, as she made a show of spitting between her breasts.

Harry groaned as he slid his cock into the now-wet space in her cleavage, and Pansy moaned in turn as she reached to press her breasts around him, sliding them back and forth tantalizingly. While Pansy certainly had an impressive pair of breasts, so too did Harry have a _significant_ cock, the top third poking out of her cleavage as he began to thrust into her tits.

“Mmmfhh,” Pansy moaned incoherently when Harry pulled her head forward once again, taking the head of his cock between her lips when he pushed forward, sucking vigorously every time he entered her mouth.

“Fuck, Pans,” Harry groaned, his motions beginning to grow erratic. She met his eyes, opening her mouth wide, and extending her tongue. His wordless moan was all the warning she wanted, as she closed her eyes, feeling his hot cum splashing against her face, over her breasts, and up her neck.

 _Fuck, I swear I just came a little,_ she thought, despite how unrealistic this idea felt.

Each of the two panted for breath as Harry flopped off of her, rolling to his side to gaze at her.

“That was _hot_ ,” Pansy reviewed, wanting to encourage such acts from Harry as much as she could.

“Fuck, yeah,” Harry agreed, “here, I’ll grab my wand, clean you up.”

“No,” Pansy decided, “I want to stay like this a bit. Don’t you like how I look, covered in your cum?”

“You’re beautiful,” Harry chuckled, and she felt a blush rising for some ridiculous reason, “and absolutely brilliant.”

“I have brilliant tits,” she bit her lip when Harry chuckled, reaching to grope one of her breasts in agreement, “I’m glad you finally noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed for years,” Harry stretched, before getting up from the bed. He padded over to the nightstand, retrieving a pack of cigarettes, then lighting one for each of them. “Then again, apparently I didn’t notice that you were actually flirting with me at all those various social nights, so I can’t say I’m the most observant bloke.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Pansy took a slow drag, luxuriating in the way that nicotine enhanced post-sex buzz, “it took me long enough to figure out that I _wanted_ you to look. I think it started as wanting to frustrate the Golden Boy, y’know?”

Harry chuckled, muttering a cleaning charm before pulling Pansy up against his chest. While she appreciated that Harry wasn’t squeamish about his own cum, she equally appreciated the courtesy of _not_ gluing the two of them together with their own fluids.

“You were brilliant tonight,” his voice rumbled in his chest, “and not just the sex – that goes without saying – but, really, I know it was hard for you.”

“Mm,” Pansy made a sound of dismissal, “there’s always a lot of history with people from school. I _was_ a bit of a nightmare, after all.”

“How d’you feel about it now?” Harry asked, his thumb tracing patterns against her shoulder.

“I dunno,” Pansy wasn’t too concerned about the specifics, “like… would I do what I did again, now? Of course not. But I don’t really regret how I was,” she turned to face Harry, “is that terrible?”

“Nah,” as with _so many_ things, Harry’s ability to just _accept_ her statement was surprising to her, “we were young, mixed up in things that none of us ever should have been, all of us did what we needed to to survive, I figure. You’re great now, and that’s what counts.”

“I’m still a bit of a bitch,” Pansy teased, though the compliment left a warm feeling in her chest.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry grinned at her, “keeps me on my toes, yeah? And I think Daph likes that the two of you can scheme and gossip like good little snakes.”

“You’re so sweet,” she batted at his chest playfully, “I bet you’re nice to _all_ the girls who let you fuck their tits.“

“You and Daph?” he smirked, “yeah, pretty much.”

“What, really?” Pansy reached down to lightly pat his member, “you poor thing, you’ve never found anyone who can _smother_ this _snake_.”

It was true enough: though Pansy was a _great_ fan of Daphne’s breasts, her girlfriend wasn’t as busty as Pansy herself was, and Pansy didn’t even have the sheer _quantity_ of breasts required to fully envelop Harry’s cock. _Maybe one day we’ll find someone who can,_ Pansy idly mused, before she realized that something about that idea sounded _fucking hot_ , derailing that particular train of thought before it could go any further.

Harry certainly hadn’t expressed _any_ complaints about either of his girlfriends, ( _not that he would, we’re fucking gorgeous)_ , and Pansy definitely didn’t feel insecure about it ( _considering I was the one who insisted on it)_ , but she had to admit she was curious about what type of woman Harry might pursue if the trio ever made use of the “if we all want to fuck someone, we can” clause in their relationship.

“Maybe I’ll wear something low cut to your party,” Pansy drawled, making light of her _actual_ worries over the upcoming plan to reveal their relationship to more of Harry’s friends, “might distract you when it’s _your_ friends I’m being bitchy to.”

“As it happens,” Harry ruffled the back of her head in a way that _might_ have felt condescending, but absolutely _didn’t_ , “I would, in fact, consider Ron a friend of mine, and you seem to have won him over.”

“Right, with _Quidditch_ ,” Pansy snorted. One of the unforeseen consequences of her recent relationship with Daphne and Harry was that she’d been devoting more time to old interests that had fallen by the wayside, no longer concerned with either Pureblood “ _a Lady shouldn’t care about sports_ ” biases or Slytherin “ _you’re just a Quidditch groupie_ ” jibes from the past.

“Maybe we can play one of these days,” Harry had a glimmer of excitement in his eye, “I was quite the Seeker, after all.”

“Of course,” Pansy pinched his side, “big talk from someone who isn’t even the best player Gryffindor produced.”

“Perhaps I’ll start training again,” Harry teased back, “try and go pro, yeah? You could be lucky enough to date a Quidditch star!”

“ _You_ could be lucky enough to date a brilliant artist and a rising fashion star,” Pansy snorted, “oh, wait, you already are.”

“Heh,” Harry grinned widely, “yeah. Still can’t believe how lucky I am, sometimes.”

 _Me neither,_ she thought.

“I’ll do my best,” Pansy yawned, starting to feel sleepy in this supremely comfortable state, “when I’m at your party. I still don’t think your friends are going to be in favour.”

“If they aren’t,” Harry shrugged, extinguishing his cigarette, taking Pansy’s from her and doing the same, “they’ll get on board eventually, or I’ll stop seeing them. I’m not too worried, Pans, they’re good people.”

 _I’m not,_ one of her insecurities raised its head, but she didn’t bother voicing it.

“We’ll see, I suppose,” Pansy nestled her head into Harry’s chest, “at least I’ve got a couple weeks to prepare.”

“You’ll be fine,” Harry waved his hand, shutting the lights off, “after all, you’re brilliant.”

 _Fuck, you two are,_ Pansy found herself missing Daphne in this moment, which was _ridiculous_ given that she’d just seen her girlfriend hours before. She never would have imagined that she’d find herself with feelings like this for not _one_ person, but _two,_ and yet somehow it felt natural to her.

“Mrf,” she muttered, “you are. Night, Harry, I’m sleepy.” He kissed the top of her head in response, and she felt his breaths beginning to slow under her.

 _I suppose we’re all lucky,_ she admitted, as she began to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure this fic is going to follow a Party-"Afterparty" format much like these two chapters, so up next is Harry's party, where he'll introduce Pansy and Daphne as his girlfriends!
> 
> Comments always welcome!


	3. Libations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Daphne attend Harry's party, where the guests have a variety of different reactions to the reveal that the three are dating

Pansy

“You’re gonna be fine, Pans,” Harry grumbled.

“ _Obviously,_ ” Pansy sipped her coffee, “I’m not nervous or anything like that, I just don’t see why we have to hold a _meeting_ before the party.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a meeting,” Daphne disagreed, lifting her tea to her lips before she smirked and continued, “more like an interview.”

“You two,” Harry chuckled, “not _everything_ is some kind of subtle social game, y’know? Hermione’s pretty straight-forward, she just wants to meet the two of you properly before tonight.”

 _Speak of the devil,_ Pansy thought, as the witch in question walked into the (Muggle) coffee shop where the trio were seated, accompanied by a man that Pansy thought she recognized, but couldn’t quite place.

While Pansy would hardly say that she _envied_ Granger in any way, she could bring herself to admit that the other woman had come a long way since Pansy had constantly taunted her at Hogwarts: Granger’s infamous mop of hair was now styled into a full, lustrous set of curls, complimenting the sun-kissed shade of her skin. She must have learned how to dress stylishly at some point, wearing a sundress that flared over the other woman’s (apparently) _significant_ curves.

Granger’s guest was, to Pansy’s eye, _surprisingly_ attractive: a tall, dark-haired man with a face that seemed as if it would lend itself well to scowling and yet carried an easy, bright-eyed expression. He dressed in a very _continental_ fashion in a way that worked for him, a dark purple shirt unbuttoned at the collar under a grey blazer, over black slacks. The man was broad across the shoulders in a way that suggested strength, but not quite to the point of being _brawny_.

 _Not a bad pull, Granger,_ Pansy admitted.

Harry, apparently, recognized Granger’s date, a wide grin breaking across his face as he rose from his chair.

“Viktor!” Harry announced – _ah, that solves that little mystery –_ as he closed the distance, clasping the taller man’s hand in his own, “didn’t know that you were in town!”

“Of course!” Viktor Krum boomed, actually _picking Harry up_ off the ground in a crushing bear-hug, “I would not miss such an event!”

“It’s not an _event_ , Viktor,” Granger spoke from behind him, “it’s merely a party.”

“Yes,” Krum had lost much of his accent (which Pansy vaguely recalled), but tinges of it remained noticeable in some of his pronunciation. _Curious,_ Pansy thought, _last that I recall, he was playing for some Bulgarian team or another._ “It is a party!” the man continued, dropping Harry back onto his feet, “hosted by the champion of our world, many of the great wizards and witches of your country in attendance, where the women who could very well become the queens of magical England will be revealed. I would not miss this for any reason!”

 _Fuck,_ Pansy sipped her coffee, masking a sneer before it reached her face, _that’s gonna put Daph all sorts of on-edge. “Queens”, really?_

“It’s magical _Britain,_ ” Granger corrected once more – _shocking, that_ – as she walked to Viktor’s side, linking her arm through his, “and we don’t _have_ magical royalty here, but you know that.”

Krum grinned in a wry way, a glimmer of something _sharp_ in his eyes.

“I would meet,” Pansy met his gaze, and she realized that Krum _knew_ what he was doing, “the women who have so impressed Harry Potter.”

Daphne was the first to rise from her seat, crossing the table to offer Krum a handshake.

“Daphne Greengrass,” she answered, as Krum instead lifted her hand to his face, kissing the back of her knuckles in a _far_ too traditional way, “nice to meet you,” Daphne continued, a slight hint of nervousness in her voice.

“I have met your sister,” Krum spoke, “a most formidable woman. It must be a quality of your family.”

 _A compliment,_ Pansy took another distracting sip of coffee as she rose in turn, _except that it reminds Daph of her parents. Clever._

“Pansy Parkinson,” she answered, keeping her grip on Krum’s hand firm, forcing him into a conventional handshake, “we’ve met.”

“Oh?” a vague hint of a smirk crossed Krum’s features, “have we, now?”

“You sat with us at Hogwarts,” Pansy forced herself not to sneer, “when you were in the Triwizard Tournament.”

Krum released her hand, and Pansy couldn’t help but frown as his smirk became fully evident.

“Ah, yes,” Krum agreed, “you were the mean one, I think.”

“Oh, I’m still an utter bitch,” Pansy fired back, “but for some reason, these two seem to like it.”

“Well!” Harry interjected, “I think you two need drinks! What do you take, Viktor?”

“Ah,” Krum turned from her, “I will accompany you!”

The two men walked from the table to go order, Pansy and Daphne returning to their seats, now joined by Granger.

“So,” Pansy drawled, “this is the ‘if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you’ thing, yeah?”

“Hardly,” Granger snorted, her expression analytical, “I’m sure you already know that I’m not sold on you, Pansy, but I know Harry well enough to trust him to make his own decisions.”

“Strange way of showing it,” Daphne’s tone was clipped, her arms folded across the front of her body, “using Viktor Krum to, what, intimidate us?”

“Viktor’s a bit overprotective,” Granger smiled, “but he means well. He likes to put people on edge when he’s trying to take their measure, but if you pass the test, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a more supportive friend.”

“I’m almost impressed, Granger,” Pansy flicked her gaze to Daphne, who remained closed-off, starting to retreat into her _frosty_ habits, “Krum’s quite the catch. How long has _that_ been going on?”

Her attempt to put Granger on her back foot had failed entirely, judging by the way that the other woman just smiled happily in response.

“Oh, for a while,” she leaned forwards, her elbows on the table, “you do realize that I’m actually trying to _help_ the three of you, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure that this kind of reception reassures me,” Daphne replied, “if this is how the rest of Harry’s friends will react, it’s not exactly helping.”

“Some of them might,” Granger shrugged in an easy way, “Park- _Pansy_ wasn’t exactly the most liked person in our circles for most of the time we’ve all known each other. But things change, people grow, and there’s going to be plenty of gossip for the more socially-focused considering that Viktor and I are going _public_ with our own relationship.”

 _Don’t see how that helps us, Granger,_ Pansy mused.

“You’re…” Daphne furrowed her brow, apparently also as confused, “deflecting attention from us?”

“Viktor’s something of a _celebrity_ ,” Granger rolled her eyes, her disdain for the term apparent, “he’s been controversial back home lately, pushing for more progressive policies than many would support.” The similarities to the role that Granger had taken in magical Britain’s politics were obvious. “After this tea, we plan to be sighted at several different places across London, a newly-minted ‘power couple’, as it’s said.”

“Heh,” Pansy smirked, “so Witch Weekly and all will be too busy stalking _you_ for photos to have time to spot the three of us. Why, that’s positively Slytherin of you.”

“I’d say ‘know your enemy’, Pansy,” Granger hazarded a small grin as Harry and Viktor returned, each carrying a _ridiculous_ number of beverages, “but I’m rather hoping we can get past that term.”

 _Maybe we will,_ Pansy thought, as she watched Daphne unfold her arms, relaxing somewhat, _it’s probably worth it._

* * *

“You nervous?” Daphne asked, turning around to inspect herself in the mirror.

“Nah,” Pansy shrugged, “I’m not convinced this _won’t_ be a disaster, but I’m not going to worry over it.”

“I am,” Daphne admitted, turning to face her. As she so often was, Pansy was struck once more by how utterly _gorgeous_ her girlfriend was, wearing a pastel green cocktail dress, her blonde hair done up in a braid, various pieces of silver jewelry sparkling as accents. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Pansy sighed, tamping down yet _another_ urge to change her own outfit again. Despite her previous teases to Harry, she’d selected a dress which was downright _conservative_ for her own style, a dark blue (instead of black) sleeveless number that covered the rest of her body entirely.

Daphne walked over to her, bringing Pansy in for a light kiss.

“Might have time for a quickie,” Pansy teased, reaching around Daphne to palm her arse.

“Oh, you’ve got a one-track mind,” Daphne giggled, the almost-musical sound rapidly becoming one of Pansy’s favourites, “we _just_ got you into that dress.”

“I could wear another one.”

“No, you look fantastic,” Daphne checked her watch, “and we really should be going.”

Pansy grumbled, taking Daphne’s arm as the blonde prepared to side-along apparate to 12 Grimmauld Place. _I’m really falling behind on magic,_ Pansy thought, _barely use it at all any more._

“But later…” Daphne teased, just before the world spun and whirled, bringing them in front of Harry’s house.

“Alright,” Pansy grumbled, “let’s get this over with.”

She rapped firmly on Harry’s door, just barely restraining herself from actually tapping her foot impatiently while she waited to be let in. Thankfully, it was only a few moments until the entrance swung open, Harry greeting them with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he spoke, “you two both look beautiful.”

“You’re not bad yourself, Harry,” Daphne answered, smiling in turn.

She had a point: Harry looked _quite_ sharp in a dark crimson shirt, charcoal slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and actual _braces_ strapped over his shoulders. _Suspenders are just starting to come back in,_ Pansy mused, _seems like you know what you’re doing._

“Aren’t you fashionable,” she voiced her thought aloud.

“Gotta be stylish,” Harry smirked at her, stepping into his house, “if I’m going to be your boyfriend, yeah?”

Pansy only mumbled in response, but she felt a little blush rising at the back of her neck from this simple sentiment alone. She and Daphne entered Harry’s lounge, various tables and seats arranged in a way that turned the space into something like a reception area.

The scene inside was _busy_ , more guests present than she would have anticipated, given how Harry had continually promised that only his closest, most trusted friends would be in attendance. _I’ve got, what, four friends?_ Pansy thought. _Blaise, for sure, I guess Michel, then Flora and Greg._ She hadn’t exactly put in any real _efforts_ to stay in touch with the people she’d known at Hogwarts, people like Draco falling vaguely into the “acquaintance” category at this point, but even if she _had_ maintained these friendships she still wouldn’t have been able to bring so many people together.

Pansy quickly scanned the crowd, taking account of the various people that she recognized: Ronald _Greengrass-_ Weasley, Draco, and Ginny _Malfoy_ stood in a cluster together (Daph had warned her that Astoria wouldn’t be attending), the ease at which those families had blended together still surprising Pansy even now. 

It was easy to spot the other Weasleys in attendance, George standing with one of his arms casually wrapped around a woman (who could only be Angelina Johnson), a drink in his other hand as he gesticulated wildly to Remus Lupin and Auror Tonks.

_Well, that’s one person I get along with well enough, at least._

Hermione Granger was similarly easy to find, passionately explaining something to the _impossible-to-miss_ Neville Longbottom, his wife ( _Hannah,_ Pansy recalled) sipping at a pint of beer beside him. The fourth member of that conversation was one that Pansy had kind of hoped she wouldn’t see tonight: none other than Susan Bones.

 _And one person who despises me,_ she sighed.

Beside Harry’s bar, the two remaining guests stood with their backs to the wall, looking out over the rest of the party as they spoke quietly to each other: Viktor Krum, of course, and Fleur fucking Delacour.

_Fuck._

Though Fleur hadn’t gone anywhere near so far as that _incredibly fucking tempting_ time when she had (maybe?) tried to seduce Pansy in France, the part-Veela’s presence still set off competing thrills of anxiety and desire every time Pansy saw her. While Harry and Daphne were well aware of that _dynamic_ and trusted her to remain professional, Pansy couldn’t help but admit that Fleur’s total lack of personal space boundaries ( _surely a French thing, right?_ ) was more appealing than it perhaps should have been.

It didn’t help that Fleur was wearing one of the dresses that Pansy had made for her, and looking – of course – absolutely _impossibly_ gorgeous in it.

Sure enough, the blonde caught sight of Pansy, smirked, and began to make her way towards her and Daphne.

“Ah, _bonjour,_ ” Fleur spoke in that absolutely _delicious_ accent, “it is good to see you, Pansy! I am afraid I have not made your acquaintance, Miss?”

“Daphne,” Pansy’s girlfriend wasn’t _short_ in her response, but definitely not as casual as she usually was, “Greengrass.”

“Charmed,” Fleur answered, silkily, “I quite love your dress! Is it one of Pansy’s?”

It wasn’t: Pansy had insisted on that, in fact, not wanting to be _too_ obvious about the claim that she’d struck on Daphne.

“Oh, no,” Daphne replied, “it’s a Muggle label.”

“Ah, _Saint Laurent?_ ” Fleur inquired, her eye for fashion as sharp as ever, apparently, “I am, how do you say, quite the fan, as well! Though I much prefer _Serpentine,_ this piece turned out very well, wouldn’t you say, Pansy?”

Fleur twirled in place to demonstrate just _how_ well the dress had turned out, and Pansy had to swallow tightly when she saw how the swirls of lace at the side panels clung to Fleur’s figure. She would still insist that Daphne had a better arse ( _best I’ve seen, really_ ), but it was a near contest, and Fleur was _supernaturally_ attractive, with long legs, full breasts, and a thin waist which gave her an arguably _impossible_ hourglass shape.

“The silk turned out well,” Pansy tried to remain objective, “but I figured you’d use the layers to accessorise more.”

“Ah, not tonight,” Fleur smirked, “a brassiere would disrupt the lines, _non_? Oh, Harry! Come have a drink with Viktor and I!”

“Heh,” Harry chuckled behind her – _Merlin, I’d forgotten he was even there_ – moving past his girlfriends to do just that, “Triwizard solidarity and all, yeah?”

As their boyfriend sauntered off with his friend, Pansy turned to her girlfriend, gauging how she reacted to Fleur’s… _presence._

“She’s… unfairly good looking,” Daphne commented, though thankfully her tone was neither bitter nor insecure.

“Veela blood would do that,” Pansy shrugged, “I guess.”

“Well, shall we?”

“I suppose,” Pansy agreed, and the pair made their way to join the rest of the guests, pausing to retrieve glasses of wine from a table. They exchanged greetings with Draco, Ginny, and Ronald as they passed, Tonks raising her glass across the room at Pansy as a welcome, but none of the guests reached out to join Daphne and Pansy as they seated themselves on a couch.

However, it wasn’t long before Harry made his way over, a looseness in his motions suggesting that he was likely a drink or two ahead of them, and sat himself on the couch directly between his girlfriends.

“I’m glad you two came,” he said, more loudly than he needed to, then leaned over to kiss Daphne on the cheek, repeating the action for Pansy.

Her earlier blush now made its presence _unignorable_ , as she swore the party went silent (even though conversation idly continued in the background), Harry staring out at his friends with an undisguised look of challenge on his face.

 _Fucking Gryffindors,_ she thought, _making a dramatic gesture instead of actually explaining yourself._

Still, the simple, obvious way in which Harry had chosen to reveal their relationship to his friends made her feel… _something_. _Satisfied? Content?_

_“Happy”, even._

* * *

The differences between Harry’s social circle and her own became more and more apparent as the evening continued, his earlier gesture apparently entirely sufficient to communicate his intent to his friends. Once this reveal was made, more of his guests made obvious efforts to come speak to Daphne and herself, which was surprisingly pleasant.

Ron already knew of their relationship, of course, but Draco and Ginny’s reaction was unexpected: “Draco wagered it was Daphne, I was betting on you, so I guess we both win?”. George Weasley had made a rapid-fire series of jokes that Pansy didn’t quite get the references to until Angelina had appeared to jab him in the side and tell him to behave himself, and Neville and Hannah were perfectly pleasant (if a bit boring, in Pansy’s opinion).

The evening didn’t take a turn for the worse until Pansy, having just finished talking to Tonks and Remus Lupin (receiving a subtle heads-up that her father had _not_ been charged with anything in the process) spotted Daphne very _engaged_ in a conversation with Susan Bones.

Much like her own working relationship with Fleur, Pansy was aware that Bones was the current patron of Daphne’s art, so the fact that they’d talk with each other was hardly surprising, but not even Fleur was so _clearly_ interested in something _beyond_ a working relationship.

Bones was outgoing, social, and bold, and the way that Daphne was giggling at her jokes and practically leaning into the _all-too-frequent_ moments of physical contact between the pair (even as she fumed, Pansy saw Bones run her hand down Daphne’s arm) was something that Pansy found herself _feeling_ things about.

As she often did, Pansy tried to run through the list of possible emotions she could be feeling: it was, surprisingly, not _jealousy,_ as she had absolutely no concern that Daphne would pursue anything without hers and Harry’s express approval. Neither was she feeling threatened, she had _plenty_ of experience trading barbs with Bones (both at Hogwarts and in the years afterwards) and considered herself fully up to the task of meeting the forceful woman’s wit.

_Fuck._ _No idea what this is._

When Bones had said something that made Daphne blush while laughing, Pansy had enough, discarding her own puzzling reaction of _“I can do that better”_ as soon as it arose. She knew better than to act the jealous girlfriend ( _I’m not jealous, anyways_ ), and wasn’t helping _anyone_ by standing around feeling some uncertain emotion.

Sure, she could probably talk to Harry about it, but he was once more wrapped up in conversation with his fellow Triwizard competitors, an audience of Hermione and Longbottom apparently listening to the trio telling tales. Pansy decided she’d get herself another drink, which would certainly help to chase this _mood_ away.

As she set about pouring herself a glass of firewhisky, her internal conflict was interrupted by the very _last_ person she wanted to talk to.

“Well, haven’t you done well for yourself, Parkinson,” Bones spoke behind her, “managed to snare not only Harry Potter, but Daphne as well. How’d you pull that one off?”

Pansy didn’t rise to the bait as she turned around calmly, taking a long, slow drink from her glass before replying.

“Oh, I’m actually quite charming,” she answered, “to those that can actually handle a bit of wit.”

“Hah,” Bones practically _barked_ a laugh, entirely unconcerned with decorum, “right, I’m sure your _wit_ is your best quality,” she moved past Pansy, pouring herself an equally-large glass of the firewhisky, before turning back to her, meeting Pansy’s gaze as she drained the entire glass in one long pull.

“Oh, no doubt, I’m a complicated type,” Pansy finished her own drink, in turn, “the whole black-and-white, good-or-bad thing doesn’t hold much appeal to me.”

“Of course,” Bones replied, “after all, why would someone say what they mean when they could scheme and lie about it instead? Oh, speaking of which, I have to tell you, I’m surprised. You’re dressed very nicely,” Bones waved her empty glass vaguely in Pansy’s direction, before turning to pour another shot, “haven’t even got your tits out tonight. Put them away once you finally got Harry to notice, hey?”

“I wasn’t aware you’d been looking at my tits,” Pansy stood beside Bones now, resisting the urge to physically shove her aside as she poured herself another shot in turn, “though I’m not surprised. I’ve heard you’ve had quite the struggle in the dating department, but jealousy isn’t a good look.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve much to be jealous of,” Bones taunted, “yours aren’t bad, but, well,” she pushed her elbows together, emphasizing her own _considerable_ cleavage, “I think I’ve got you beat.”

There was a moment of silence as the two women stared each other down, before, as if on some unspoken signal, each downed their shot of firewhisky at the same time. Pansy felt a rare flutter of something like insecurity, as she assessed her opponent: though Susan Bones certainly wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room ( _how could she be,_ Pansy thought, _when Daph, me, and fucking Fleur are here_ ), she was – objectively – rather attractive, with a heart-shaped face, large brown eyes behind stylish eyeglasses, and long curls of deep-red auburn hair falling over her shoulder. Certainly, Fleur and Pansy herself fell closer to the “hourglass” shape, but neither could Bones’s – admittedly – considerable bust and wide hips be ignored.

 _Fuck,_ Pansy wondered, _I don’t actually know what Daphne’s type is among women._

“Oh, no, I don’t mean that, you seem to have tits on the brain,” Pansy poured a _third_ shot, the challenge obvious, “I meant it must be difficult for you to see women dating each other when you, well, aren’t.”

Bones, of course, matched her in pouring another drink, her response to Pansy’s latest barb slower than the last ones. _Good,_ Pansy thought, _I bet that stung._

“Well, being Lady Bones,” her opponent downed the shot of whisky, Pansy doing the same, as the burn in her throat finally began to catch up to her, “I’m afraid there’s a lot I have to keep in mind. Your fucking family,” she cursed, as Pansy noted a spark of actual _anger_ in her eyes, “is partially to thank for that, _Heiress Parkinson_.”

“Fuck them,” Pansy’s words spilled from her lips before she could plan for it, the reaction immediate and intuitive, “we may not agree on much, Bones, but if you can tear my parents down, I’ll buy you a fucking drink.”

“Hmm,” Bones glared at her, processing _something_ as the tension drew to a breaking point, “maybe you will.”

The redhead turned and walked away without further comment, and Pansy hissed a breath between her teeth, her mind just as aflame with a strange sort of frustration as her chest was with the three quick drinks of firewhisky.

 _I need a fucking cigarette,_ she thought, stomping towards the front door to do just that. Luckily, it seemed that nobody else had caught her showdown with Bones: Harry was caught up with Ron, Draco, and Ginny, and Daphne was excitedly talking with Hermione, gesturing with her hands as she spoke, her openness bringing a slight smile to Pansy’s lips.

Outside, the cool night air seemed to help calm her down somewhat, as she sat on Harry’s front steps, blowing smoke out with a heavy sigh. After a minute, she heard the door behind her open, and she turned to see – unexpectedly – Neville Longbottom exiting.

“Hey,” the man spoke, and Pansy gave a small wave with two of her fingers in response, “I’ve got something I need to say.”

_Fuck._

“Yeah?” Pansy felt her nerves coming to life all over again, as she rose to her feet – not that it made much of a difference, she still had to crane her neck up to meet Longbottom’s eyes.

“I know what you did,” Longbottom said, “in seventh year.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“That so?” Pansy kept her tone level, but her fingers twitched. She wasn’t even carrying a wand, but if Longbottom had decided to pursue revenge for one of the various horrible things she’d done, that wouldn’t have helped her anyways. Nor could she hope to meet him in any physical contest, the man made _Krum_ look small, taller than even Greg Goyle in height and just as broad, and _built_ on top of that.

“With Clarissa,” Longbottom explained, putting his hands up in a nonthreatening way, his palms out.

_Oh._

It was honestly been something Pansy hadn’t thought about until _this_ very moment, ever since it had happened, so she was surprised to hear that anyone else even knew about it.

“It was nothing,” Pansy grumbled, as she put her cigarette back between her lips, “common sense, really.”

 _Clarissa **Abbott,**_ Pansy recalled, _a cousin of Hannah's, I think? O_ _f course he’d find out. Didn’t even put that together._

In her seventh year, when Pansy had enjoyed a position of absolutely poisonous power as the Carrow twins all-but-ran Hogwarts, she’d caught a third-year Hufflepuff with “contraband forbidden material”: a Muggle fashion magazine. Instead of turning the girl in, Pansy had merely taken the magazine from her and shooed her off with a warning.

“Yeah,” Longbottom agreed, “but it was the _right_ thing to do. Harry likes you, a lot, from what I can tell, so that’s enough for me, but I wanted to tell you that not all of us old D.A. members see you as an enemy.”

_Huh. Guess someone overheard after all._

“Thanks,” Pansy replied, simply, and Longbottom nodded, returning inside.

The rest of the evening passed much more easily, and Pansy found herself almost _believing_ Longbottom’s words, actually allowing herself to ignore the instinct which screamed that the people around her were just waiting for her to slip up or fall back into her old ways.

As various guests filtered out, Harry approached Pansy and Daphne, who were chatting at the side of one of his couches once again.

“Hey, you two,” he smiled, “how are you doing?”

“Oh, great!” Daphne excitedly replied, “this was actually really nice, Harry.”

“I might be convinced,” Pansy drawled, “that some of your friends may be tolerable, Potter.”

“High praise,” Harry smirked, “just, uh, so you know, Hermione and I have some stuff to talk about. Politics shite. You’re welcome to stay if you want, but we might be up for a while, and, er, it involves both of your parents.”

“That’s alright,” Daphne shrugged, “I think Pans and I had some plans for after this anyways, yeah?”

Harry smiled, as if some tension had left him with her response. Pansy grumbled, leaning in to pull Harry against herself, craning her neck up to kiss him.

“You’ll have to make it up to us later, I suppose,” she teased, as Harry leaned over her shoulder to kiss Daphne in turn. _Always do like it when I’m in the middle of them,_ she thought.

“Right, I will,” he promised, “you two are both amazing. Really.”

“Obviously,” Daphne teased.

“Have fun,” Harry smirked, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially, “I’ll message you both tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pansy murmured, disengaging from him, “now, Daphne, take me home.”

“Can’t keep our girl waiting,” Daphne agreed, “goodnight, Harry!”

“Night, you two,” he smiled once more at them, then returned to his seat at a table across from Hermione.

“Our girl?” Pansy smirked, linking her arm into Daphne’s.

“Hush,” Daphne laughed, “you like it.”

As it turns out, she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to go really "dialogue and introspection" heavy on this chapter, with little hints at future plot developments stashed away where I could hide them!
> 
> Last chapter didn't seem to garner as much of a response as I was expecting, so I'm hoping that the next chapter (Daphne and Pansy's afterparty ;) ) goes a little better - I'd love to hear reactions, responses, and thoughts about this chapter, the plans for the next one, *and* the story structure of alternating fluff and smut in general, it helps me understand if something isn't working as well as I'd like!


	4. Drinks (Daphne/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Pansy finish their night together, then Daphne meets with her patron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mix of fluff, smut, and plot!

Daphne

Pansy and her appeared in Pansy’s flat, the signature “ _crack_ ” of apparition echoing through the empty rooms. Blaise and his boyfriend were apparently out of town tonight, which marked a rare opportunity for Daphne to spend some time at Pansy’s place.

 _Not that it really matters,_ she mused, _since Pans said Blaise knows about us anyways._

Still, it was Pansy’s turn next to officially introduce their relationship to her friends, and she hadn’t yet revealed her plans on how she would do so beyond a vague hint of “ _oh, you’ll see_ ”. Daphne was rather looking forward to seeing what her girlfriend could come up with.

“That went pretty well, yeah?” Daphne asked, having thoroughly enjoyed the evening at Harry’s, where it had been _his_ turn to reveal the trio’s relationship to his friends.

“For the most part,” Pansy shrugged, “got into it with Bones a little bit.”

“Oh?” Daphne frowned, not quite sure how to balance this. While it was true that she and Susan had become fairly close of late (and Daphne was not blind to the overtures that Susan wouldn’t mind getting even _closer_ ), she’d still take Pansy’s side in any more serious conflict that arose.

“It’s no big deal,” the smirk on Pansy’s face reassured Daphne somewhat, “the usual trading barbs, bit of a drinking contest, promises to continue the battle later, all that.”

“I can ask her to back off,” Daphne bit her lip, “if you’d like?”

“Don’t you dare,” Pansy snaked her arm around Daphne’s back, pinching her arse lightly, “I need _some_ kind of battle of wits to keep myself sharp, and Harry’s proven himself disappointingly soft of late.”

“Right, Harry’s the one who’s gone soft,” Daphne giggled when Pansy’s pinch on her arse turned into a gentle swat, “you’re definitely _nothing_ like infatuated with him, or anything of the sort.”

“I know, right?” Pansy dramatically leaned into Daphne with an exaggerated sigh, “what’s happened to me? It must be some fiendish plot to turn me into a _romantic_ or something.”

Daphne smirked as she kissed the top of Pansy’s hair. As the three of them had explored the details of their now-official relationship, Daphne had come to notice that there were subtle differences in the way that each of the three interacted with the other two, depending on whether they were in pairs or all together: Harry and herself tended to fall into a relaxed, almost domestic dynamic, often appreciating just being around each other rather than _doing_ something. With Pansy, they talked a lot more, the flow of conversation quick and easy. From what she’d heard, Pansy and Harry usually joked with each other and issued a lot of light-hearted dares when it was just the two of them.

Each of the different dynamics had its own appeal, certainly, but Daphne found that she enjoyed the three of them together the most, when the best parts of their individual relationships blended together into one that was dynamic, comfortable, and downright _fun_.

_To say nothing of the sex…_

So too did the dynamics of the sexual aspect of their relationship change depending on who was present, and when it was just her and Pansy, Daphne had found that it was her oral skills which were most important: even _outside_ the obvious application in the bedroom, it seemed that _conversation_ served as a form of foreplay for this pair.

Partly to poke at a lingering curiosity that she had, and partly to move things in _that_ direction, Daphne posed her next question to Pansy:

“I _can_ stop seeing Susan outside of the commission requirements, if you’d like?”

“No, no,” Pansy grumbled, “I mean, don’t go shagging her yet or anything, but I actually don’t mind.”

“You seemed a bit out-of-sorts,” Daphne ran her hand into Pansy’s hair, twirling her short, glossy locks between her fingers, “when you saw Susan and I talking. Were you jealous?”

“Not at all,” Pansy shivered slightly as Daphne traced her nails against the brunette’s scalp, “I was… I’m not sure, actually. It _wasn’t_ jealousy, but past that, no fucking idea.”

“Surely not envy,” Daphne teased, “it _couldn’t_ be that you wished you were part of that conversation.”

“I’ve nothing to be envious of, though, uhhh,” Pansy’s response trailed off into a noise that _might_ have been called a “moan” as Daphne ghosted her fingertips along the side of her neck, “I _suppose_ that I can admit that she’s got quite the fucking pair of tits.”

“So do you, darling,” Daphne trailed her other hand up Pansy’s chest, not quite _groping_ but coming close enough.

“You’re just single-minded,” Pansy’s jeering response was venomless, “put a nice set of tits in front of you, and you’re snared.”

Pansy wasn’t _wrong_ – in moments of introspection, Daphne had come to realize that one of the features of a woman that caught her eye was _indeed_ a particularly impressive chest.

“Oh,” Daphne leaned in so that her mouth was next to Pansy’s ear, dropping her voice to a husky tone, “is that it? You want to watch _me_ playing with Susan’s tits?”

“Don’t be silly,” Pansy hissed, though Daphne did _not_ miss how she shivered at these words, “I’d much rather you play with mine, you minx.”

“Maybe you like showing us off,” she bit the outside edge of Pansy’s ear gently, and felt the other woman sag into her embrace, “Harry and I are quite the catches, and we’re all yours, after all.”

“Fuck,” Pansy muttered, “the two of you _are_ bloody hot, and I _do_ like to flaunt what I have.”

“Oh, don’t you ever,” Daphne ran her hand down Pansy’s back, feeling her trembling the entire time, then gripping the shorter woman’s ass firmly.

In lieu of a verbal response, Pansy turned her face up to Daphne’s, pulling her down into a heated kiss, Pansy’s tongue immediately seeking out Daphne’s own. The pair moaned in sequence as their embrace somehow got even _closer_ , their bodies crushed against one another.

“Bedroom,” Pansy finally spoke, “now.”

Daphne giggled as her girlfriend eagerly pulled her by the hand, guiding them towards Pansy’s bedroom. The room itself was decorated in a style that Daphne appreciated, a chaotic mix of Muggle posters and emblems from the magical world, Pansy’s clothes precisely organized in a way that contrasted with how the rest of her possessions were haphazardly strewn between her desk and vanity.

_Not that the décor is what I’m interested in…_

“Ah-ah,” Daphne gently chided, as Pansy made to reach for the zipper at the back of her own dress, “I helped you get dressed tonight, after all, I’d very much like to _undress_ you too.”

Pansy practically _whimpered_ in agreement. While Daphne was quite comfortable with the fact that Pansy usually took a more dominant role with her, she was also _well_ aware that Pansy was a true “switch”, equally happy to submit to one of her partners’ desires.

Tonight, Daphne had decided that she’d be the one in control.

“Oh, aren’t _you_ demanding,” Pansy teased, even as she lifted her arms to allow Daphne to unzip her dress.

_Of course, she never makes it easy to dominate her… which is half the fun._

Daphne peeled Pansy’s dress away, taking a moment to _thoroughly_ grope her breasts before removing Pansy’s black lace bra. _Maybe I am a “tits woman”,_ she mused. The pair began to kiss once more as Daphne guided Pansy backwards into her bed, pausing only to hurriedly shuffle out of her own dress before she crawled overtop of her girlfriend.

“I did-ah,” Daphne stuttered, as Pansy snuck her hand up the back of Daphne’s legs to grab her arse, “hear that Harry put you through your paces, the other night…”

“Oh,” Pansy smirked between kisses, “he certainly did. It’s quite the adventure getting him worked up enough to take control, after all…”

“The poor boy must get overwhelmed,” Daphne paused to tweak one of Pansy’s pierced nipples, delighting at the gasp from her girlfriend, “there’s just so many things we can do with you, how are we to decide?”

“I know what I want,” Pansy gasped, “but I can be convinced to listen to what _you two_ want, I suppose.”

“Is that so?” Daphne smiled, as she pushed her thigh between Pansy’s, pushing her girlfriend’s legs apart, “and what _do_ you want, darling?”

“Touch me,” Pansy practically begged – not that she’d admit to it, of course – as she spread her legs even further apart.

“But I _am_ ,” Daphne taunted, trailing her fingers down Pansy’s abdomen, across her hipbones, then up the inside of her thighs.

“Daphneee,” her girlfriend whined, her hips tilting up towards Daphne’s fingers.

“Perhaps you should demonstrate,” the blonde giggled, kissing Pansy again.

Of course, Pansy Parkinson was not someone to be taken lightly in _any_ matters, least of all sexual activity, as she made her own desires _quite_ clear, her hand vanishing beneath the waistband of Daphne’s panties in a flash, fingertips immediately curling up into Daphne’s clit in a practised way that set her legs to quivering.

_Two can play at that game, darling._

Daphne hooked her fingers under the front of Pansy’s thong instead, immediately finding that her girlfriend was _soaking,_ pushing two of her fingers up to the first knuckle inside her girlfriend’s sex.

The pair began to kiss each other _desperately_ , the intensity of their make-out session rapidly escalating in time with the motions of their hands, and soon both of the women were thrusting their fingers inside one another, their hips bucking towards each other.

“Poor Harry,” Daphne choked out, in an interlude between kisses, “he’s missing quite the show, isn’t he?”

“Fuck,” Pansy muttered in response, apparently not up to her usual level of repartee.

“Maybe we’d make him watch,” Daphne continued to tease, her voice hitching in the middle as Pansy’s ministrations continued, “wouldn’t you like that?”

“Fuck,” Pansy repeated, “rather he’d join in.”

“Mm,” Daphne admitted she’d prefer that too, “yeah. Maybe someone else, then?”

“Daph…” Pansy whined.

“Perhaps you’d like to show Susan why it is that I’m _yours_?” Daphne continued the role-playing, forcing confidence into her voice even as Pansy’s digits prompted her towards an orgasm, “or maybe you’d make Fleur watch, since she’s so _intrigued_ by women fucking each other?”

“Fuck me,” Pansy groaned, half an outburst, half encouraging Daphne to continue her _own_ steady pumping of her fingers in and out of Pansy’s cunt.

“Or maybe you’re a bit of a voyeur,” Daphne leaned forward to whisper into Pansy’s ear, as she felt her legs begin to quiver, “wouldn’t you like to watch Harry bring them in line? Treat Susan like a big-titted toy?” Daphne nipped Pansy’s earlobe, her voice growing hoarse, “shove her face into your cunt as he fucks her?”

Pansy’s whole body stiffened, her sex _clenching_ around Daphne’s fingers, a wordless yelp escaping her lips as she came _hard_.

“Fuck,” Pansy muttered as she came down from those orgasmic heights, “just… _fuck_.”

“You liked that, I take it?” Daphne smirked, thrusting her hips forward in an attempt to remind Pansy that – for once – _she_ hadn’t cum yet.

“C’mere,” Pansy slurred, removing her fingers from Daphne’s pussy, pulling her panties down in doing so, then reaching to pull at Daphne’s hips as Pansy slid down the bed. Daphne hooked her leg over Pansy’s head, understanding what her girlfriend was aiming for, then cooing in delight as Pansy’s tongue practically _plunged_ into her pussy.

“Fuck yes, Pans,” Daphne whispered, as her girlfriend _devoured_ her cunt, Pansy’s tongue lashing wildly over Daphne’s clit, both her hands gripped _firmly_ on Daphne’s arse as the brunette pulled the blonde tight against her face.

 _If I’m into tits,_ she thought, hazily, _then you are_ definitely _into arses._

Given that she was already worked up from Pansy’s previous actions, it did not take Daphne long at all to reach her own climax, moaning loudly as her juices sprayed over Pansy’s face (judging by Pansy’s expression, she did not mind in the slightest), before slumping to the side bonelessly, disentangling her legs from Pansy’s head to come to rest beside her.

“Wow,” Pansy smirked, “did your dirty talk work on _yourself_?”

“Mm,” Daphne snuggled into Pansy’s side, as the brunette slung an arm around her shoulders, “I suppose it did. Not too much, was it?”

“Not at all,” Pansy kissed the top of her head, “I don’t think that’s an ‘every time’ kind of thing, but, fuck, given the context, it was _perfect_.”

“Yeah,” Daphne mumbled, comfortable in Pansy’s embrace, “I’m not pushing for it to happen for real, you know? It just felt like a fun fantasy tonight.”

“Mhmm,” Pansy’s response was similarly mumbled, as she played idly with Daphne’s hair, “still lots of time to figure all that out. No rush.”

“Good,” Daphne snuggled against her girlfriend, yawning softly.

“Although…” Pansy muttered.

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s given me some ideas for the next time we’re with Harry,” Pansy answered, “you’re in trouble, Miss Greengrass.”

“I can’t wait,” Daphne giggled, reaching to hug Pansy, as both the women felt sleep approaching.

* * *

A couple of days later, Daphne felt almost guilty, meeting with Susan at her own studio to discuss the art piece that Lady Bones had commissioned from her.

 _I suppose I shouldn’t use someone as fantasy fuel when I’m trying to keep things professional,_ Daphne thought.

“It’s really coming along,” Susan said, leaning forward to inspect the sculpture in progress – Daphne having to pull her eyes away from the way that the redhead’s cleavage practically _spilled_ from her top in doing so – which was a tall, marble structure depicting two ambiguous yet _clearly female_ figures intertwined with each other.

“I figure there’s about two weeks of work left,” Daphne replied, “a few of the finer details, some polishing work.”

“Brilliant!” Susan cheered, “which brings me to my next question: do you want to actually attend the gala?”

“Hmm,” Daphne hadn’t really considered this option before: official Wizengamot events weren’t usually something she received invites to, “maybe? Are you inviting me?”

“Absolutely!” Susan grinned widely, which was honestly a good look on her, “I’d absolutely love for you to be able to witness the reception your piece gets.”

“I imagine my father will be there?”

“Presumably,” Susan’s grin briefly turned into a frown, before returning, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but he’s got himself named Chief Warlock, yeah?”

“Of course,” Daphne grumbled. She _had_ heard this already: though Astoria knew how little she wanted to discuss their parents, that much had come up when she’d spent the night at her sister’s.

“Yeah, so, well,” Susan shrugged, “I figure that Harry _could_ bring you as his plus-one, but that might be a bit dicey if you aren’t ready to go _public_ -public yet. Cyrus is really starting to drive the whole ‘Marriage Reform’ thing towards an actual vote.”

“And it wouldn’t be ‘dicey’ if I was _your_ plus-one?”

“Hah,” Susan’s grin grew even brighter, somehow, “hardly! First, I don’t give a fuck what your father thinks of me, and second, we can always explain it away that I wanted to appreciate the artist of my centrepiece properly.”

_I’m sure…_

“Well,” Daphne twirled a lock of her hair in thought, “I like the idea, and I _do_ want to see the look on his face when he catches sight of _‘Embrace’,”_ she gestured at the sculpture.

“Feel free to talk it over,” Susan turned to retrieve her mug of tea from a nearby table, and Daphne couldn’t help but look at the way her arse filled out her pencil skirt, “I know politics really isn’t your scene, and your relationship is a bit more complicated than most people’s are.”

 _Not really,_ Daphne mused, _it all works pretty easily, really._

“I’m curious,” she asked, “what about Pansy?”

“What _about_ Pansy?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem fair if Harry and I both attend and she doesn’t,” Daphne admitted, “but I don’t really know what the conventions around plus-ones are, since I’m so far away from that circle now.”

“Hmrph,” Susan grumbled, “the Parkinsons will receive their invitations, of course, and they’ve been making themselves rather scarce recently, so she could always use one of theirs.”

“Pansy is even less friendly with her parents than _I_ am,” Daphne retrieved her own tea, “I know it’s probably a lot to ask, but do you think you could get her an extra ticket?”

“I _could_ ,” Susan nodded, “but that would _definitely_ raise questions. It’s not really much of a secret that her and I don’t get along, yeah?”

“Oh,” Daphne frowned, “right. I think you could, really, but I get it.”

“Maybe,” Susan shrugged again, her body language easy and open, “I’m hardly going to sit here insulting your girlfriend, but I’m not as quick to move past the history I have with her as Harry apparently is.”

“That’s okay,” Daphne still wasn’t sure what this _history_ entailed, but she figured that she’d leave it alone.

“In sixth year,” Susan continued, apparently comfortable talking about it, “I was in the D.A., and Parkinson – _Pansy,_ sorry, was one of Umbridge’s attack dogs. You can imagine how that went.”

“Not well, I gather.” Daphne had been lucky enough to have isolated herself from most of the ways that the Second Wizarding War had been carried out in the halls of Hogwarts, but she could still put two and two together.

“Not _terrible_ ,” Susan met Daphne’s eyes, and Daphne was still surprised at the total _absence_ of any kind of fear, doubt, or the like in her gaze, “Harry and Malfoy almost killed each other, from what I’ve heard, and now they’re best of mates. I guess that I could be willing to move past a few times when she locked me in a classroom for _questioning_.”

Daphne chuckled despite herself: though it would have been before Pansy had come to understand that she was attracted to women as well, she could only imagine that as a confused, arrogant teenager, the tension in those “interrogations” must have been _palpable_.

“Heh,” Susan smirked in turn, “yeah, when I put it like that, it does sound a bit childish, yeah?”

“No, no,” Daphne corrected herself, “I really don’t understand what it was like to be mixed up in all that, I guess I’m just picturing the way that the two of you argue now.”

“It’s much more fun now,” Susan agreed, “way more interesting when she doesn’t just repeat ‘Pureblood Standards’ this, ‘Half-Blood traitor’ that.”

“Yeah,” Daphne shrugged, “would it help if I said she’s grown past all that bullshite now?”

“Oh, I know, otherwise she wouldn’t be dating _you_. Or Harry, really. I assume that she has _some_ good qualities hidden under all that bitchiness.”

“She really does,” Daphne smiled, feeling her chest warm with affection as she thought about her girlfriend, “I’ll admit, she’s got some sharp edges, but she’s witty, she’s stylish and cool, and honestly she’s fun to be around.”

“And she’s got great tits,” Susan added, as Daphne sputtered in surprise, “what? I might not get along with her, but I’m not _blind_ , Daph.”

“Uh,” Daphne still needed a moment to process this, “yeah, that too.”

“Bloody hell,” Susan chuckled, “you’re right taken with her, aren’t you? I honestly don’t know how I didn’t pick up on that before Harry’s party. Then again, the way Harry looks at you two… the boy’s got it _bad_.”

“Yeah,” Daphne smiled, “we all do, I think.”

“Well, fuck it,” Susan set her now empty mug down, glancing at her watch as she did, “I _guess_ that if she can’t find a ticket of her own, let me know, and I’ll see what I can figure out.”

“Really?” Daphne walked with Susan as the redhead retrieved her coat, their appointment clearly coming to an end, “thank you for that!”

“I guess it’s practical, too,” Susan pulled Daphne into a hug, which remained _friendly_ , “I won’t get into it now, but I’m pretty sure that Harry and I are going to have to work together a lot in the next few months, he’s probably going to have to start throwing his weight around in the Wizengamot instead of having Hermione do his dirty work for him.”

“Ah,” Daphne made the effort to push any concerns from her mind before they could take root, “I’ll see if I can convince him to be a bit more… _active_ in his participation.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Susan smiled widely once again – _talk about “brilliant”_ – as she turned to depart, “I’m going to have to count on him, yeah? I guess if playing nice with Pansy is the price for that, it’s not that bad.”

“Take care, Susan,” Daphne smiled.

“You too,” Susan turned to grin at Daphne once more, “say hi to the boyfriend and girlfriend for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious to see how this one lands - I've been a bit more straightforward with certain /implications/ than previous chapters, but I hope that it's still sort of vaguely ambiguous what the actual intents of the characters are ;) 
> 
> Reviews, comments, and questions welcome!


	5. Function

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Harry and Daphne's turn to be introduced to Pansy's friends, where some old wounds are prodded at

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff for this chapter!

Daphne

Harry, for all of his many abilities, had no idea how to “dress slutty”, apparently. Pansy had left her partners with those instructions to prepare for meeting her friends, and Harry had interpreted it as an all-black ensemble, a silk shirt over slim jeans topped off by a leather “biker” jacket, as the Muggles would call it.

Granted, he’d unbuttoned his shirt halfway to his navel, so it wasn’t exactly a _professional_ -looking outfit, but all Daphne could do was grin wryly as Harry goggled at _her_ choice in clothing. She was wearing one of Pansy’s designs, a leather number which straddled the line between a tube dress and a corset, open panels showing her midriff (nearly to her hipbones) in the front, her lower back (down to the top of her arse) in the back.

She’d also chosen to complete the look with fishnet stockings and an absolutely _deadly_ pair of black stiletto heels, so she didn’t exactly blame her boyfriend for the way that he just stared wordlessly instead of providing any meaningful commentary.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry finally spoke, his voice husky, “you look incredible.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” Daphne teased, stepping towards him to brush her fingers against his chest, “I’m not sure if this counts as ‘slutty’, really, but you look good.”

“Heh,” Harry smirked, as his arm came around her to stroke his own fingers over the small over her back, “I’m not really sure what counts as that for blokes. Not exactly my usual scene, yeah?”

“You’ll be fine,” Daphne kissed him quickly, tasting a hint of whisky on his lips, “you’ve got the masks?”

Harry murmured indistinctly as he separated from her, pulling the aforementioned masks from a nearby drawer. Daphne wasn’t quite sure what Pansy had in mind, but these items – a pair of black, masquerade-style coverings – were a specific _requirement_ to attend the club they were meeting her at tonight.

“Clever bit of charms,” she commented, turning the mask over in her hands. Pansy had explained that these masks were layered with a variety of disillusionment charms and obscuration enchantments to produce a disguise which went beyond merely covering one’s eyes, which she supposed made sense for the clientele of “Cauldron”, the meeting place which Harry and her were about to head to. An insignia on the inside of the mask read “Tim’s Tantalizing Trinkets”, not a merchant that Daphne was familiar with.

“Hmm,” Harry muttered, looking at his own mask, “it _is_ a clever little bit of spellwork, innit?”

“I’m just not sure who this ‘Tim’ person is, I’ve never heard of any notable Enchanters by that name.”

“Heh, if I’ve got the right of it, ‘Tim’ is a joke. Y’know, the Holy Grail?”

Daphne stared at Harry, nonplussed. She wasn’t sure how a Muggle relic from their religious practises related to a “tantalizing trinket”.

“It’s a film,” Harry explained, “Monty Python?”

“Haven’t seen it,” Daphne shrugged.

“It always surprises me that you haven’t seen many movies,” Harry smiled, the look in his eyes warm, “you know so much about Muggle music, after all, I’d figured you’re even better with pop culture than I am.”

“Well, music and art are shared in both worlds,” Daphne noted – not for the first time – that these kinds of explanations she often provided would have been significantly colder, more affronted, in the past, “Muggles are more creative in both those fields, yeah, but it’s not like there’s Wizarding Movies around that could have piqued my interest in their Muggle equivalents.”

“I wonder,” Harry began, then swallowed his words, his brow furrowing momentarily, “uh, I’m curious about something from your childhood, d’you mind if I ask? It’s nothing serious.”

“Go ahead,” Daphne smiled, appreciating the moment of consideration.

“What did you learn about Muggles growing up, anyways?”

“Not a lot,” Daphne admitted, “most of the culture I was exposed to was explicitly ‘Noble’ and ‘Pureblooded’ in nature, I can’t really recall learning much about Muggle society other than the simple fact that most people don’t have magic, and the magical and mundane worlds ‘should be’ kept separate. Music was an exception, apparently, I learned the classical Muggle composers alongside our own.”

“Huh,” Harry scratched at the back of his head, as she wondered what was making him nervous about this, “that’s a bit surprising. I figured that your, uh, _upbringing_ would have had more of the whole ‘Muggles are inferior’ bit, honestly.”

“You know…” Daphne was struck by the realization herself, “that _is_ surprising. I’d never really thought about it, but my father actually didn’t get into those kinds of things. He’s still a prejudiced bastard, of course, but he looked down on Muggleborns about the same as he looked down on Purebloods of so-called ‘poor breeding’, now that I remember.”

“Well at least that’s consistent,” Harry chuckled.

“Can I ask why _you_ ask?”

“Just a thought,” Harry shrugged, “I definitely don’t want to spoil the night by bringing up certain relatives, but it seemed a bit strange to me, considering how the ‘prejudiced bastard’ is riling up the old ‘Pureblood Supremacy’ types now.”

Even after leaving his household, the spectre of her father’s plots continued to linger around Daphne, a fact that she thoroughly resented. Not that she blamed Harry, of course.

“So, you ready?” he – thankfully – changed the topic.

“Of course, babe.”

The pair donned their masks, and Daphne was impressed by the speed at which the enchantment took effect. She knew that she was at 12 Grimmauld Place, in the company of a man, so she understood that the figure across from her was probably the Lord of that manor, but a magical fog seemed to fall over her recollection of _who,_ precisely, that might be.

“I’m Harry Potter-Black,” the man – Harry, of course – spoke, and the disillusionment charms fell away, revealing her boyfriend once more.

“I’m Daphne Greengrass,” she responded, and Harry quirked a grin at her as she must have similarly reappeared to him.

“That _is_ a clever bit of magic,” Harry whistled, impressed, “completely forgot who you were, once you put the mask on.”

“Why, I half-expect you to start using this for Auror skulduggery,” Daphne teased.

“I very well might,” Harry leaned in to kiss her once more, “shall we?”

“Let’s.”

* * *

Harry apparated them in front of _Cauldron_ , the “social club” where the pair was to meet their girlfriend. On the surface, the building was nondescript, even the signage much more subdued than was typical of Knockturn Alley, though Daphne supposed that may have helped it to stand out in a contradictory way.

Inside the front door, a man stood behind a desk, beside a second door just past the entryway.

“Welcome,” the man – also wearing a disillusioning mask – spoke, “you have your memberships?”

“Invitations,” Harry answered beside her, fishing in his jacket for a printed card. The man inspected the card, then nodded and tapped a hidden pattern behind the desk. Daphne continued to be impressed by this charm; while she could tell the man’s general height and build, and had a sense that he was older than Harry and herself, his features seemed to be hidden just out of her focus.

“Your host will be seated at table number thirteen,” the man explained, “enjoy.”

The second door swung inwards, revealing an environment inside that seemed to fall somewhere between “high-end restaurant”, “whisky bar”, and, well…

“I can’t believe Pansy invited us to meet her friends at a sex club,” Harry grumbled beside her, as the duo navigated through tables and booths, seeking out the one marked with a thirteen.

“It’s not a sex club,” Daphne quoted their girlfriend, “it’s a place for social gatherings, where privacy is appreciated.”

“It’s not _not_ a sex club, is what you’re saying,” Harry chuckled, as they spotted the table they had been directed to, one which was ensconced in a corner booth.

There were five figures already seated at the table: two women, three men, all as indistinct and uncertain as was – apparently – to be expected at Cauldron. There were copious amounts of magical beverages scattered across the table, and the quintet were engaged in what seemed to be boisterous conversation, though Daphne couldn’t make out the words.

As the pair approached the table, Harry cleared his throat hesitantly, before announcing their presence.

“We’ve got an invitation to table thirteen,” he explained.

“I’m Pansy Parkinson,” one of the women spoke, and their girlfriend’s familiar shape clarified, “and these two are my guests tonight.”

 _A bit over-ritualized,_ Daphne thought, _I suspect that most of the guests here fall very much on the Pureblood side of society._

Taking their seats beside Pansy, Harry and Daphne shuffled in together, Daphne reaching to squeeze Harry’s leg quickly in reassurance as they sat.

“Well, I’ve got to say,” one of the male figures – tall, with a voice which left a vaguely urbane impression in Daphne’s ears even while disguised - spoke, “I’m still impressed that someone managed to snag you, Pans. I suppose it makes sense that you decided to go for a set.”

“You know me,” Pansy chortled, apparently a couple drinks ahead of Daphne, “if I want something, I take it, yeah? Why limit myself to choosing one?”

“Naturally,” the man spoke, before turning to face Harry and Daphne directly, “well, then. I’m Blaise Zabini.”

Daphne wasn’t exactly _surprised_ as Blaise’s features came into focus, but she supposed that the magic disguises were a necessity for him: _anyone would recognize those eyebrows, Blaise._

“And I,” the figure beside Blaise announced, “am Michel Delacour!”

Daphne felt Harry relax the slightest amount beside her as Blaise’s own partner announced himself. _Makes sense,_ she realized, _we knew Blaise had a boyfriend, but not who he was, and Harry probably figures he’ll be able to get along with Michel at the very least. Though maybe,_ she wondered, as she already planned to tease her boyfriend about it later, _he's simply inspired by what "slutty" looks like on a man_. The French blond, true to Pansy's recommendation, was wearing a mesh "shirt" which served to cover precisely none of his torso.

Which left the other two guests at the table: the woman was even more indistinct than the others who had been magically disguised, apparently average in height and build, her voice similarly “ordinary” behind the enchantment from what Daphne had caught. The man sitting beside her – presumably her boyfriend or husband, from how she clung to his arm – was not so ambiguous, leaving Daphne with a _distinct_ impression of “bulk” even with a disillusionment charm in the way.

“Hmm,” the woman spoke, “I seem to be at the disadvantage here, Pans. I was surprised enough when you mentioned you’d found yourself in a _relationship,_ but two partners? How intriguing!”

“Variety is the spice of life, or something,” Pansy quipped, raising her drink in a sarcastic cheer.

“Very, _very_ intriguing,” the woman continued, “will I recognize these two when they announce themselves?”

“Er,” Harry answered, “yeah, I reckon you will.”

“He’s not Slytherin,” the woman deduced, as Daphne felt Harry shrug beside her, “and he’s speaking out of turn, which only makes this even more interesting. Are you well-known, Pansy’s boy?”

“You could say that,” Harry waved to a passing server, leaning past Daphne to order drinks for the pair.

 _She’s trying to suss us out instead of just asking who we are,_ Daphne, in turn, took her own measure of the woman across the table, _definitely from Slytherin from how she referred to it, likely around our age._ Daphne hoped that whoever the yet-unrevealed pair was, that they weren’t people who Harry would take particular exception to: Pansy had reassured him that Blaise would be here tonight, but had otherwise left the identities of her other friends hidden. Considering the history that Harry had with _much_ of the Slytherin house, this did not fill Daphne with confidence.

“And what of you, Pansy’s girl?” the woman continued her questions, “will I recognize you?”

“I quite expect so,” Daphne replied, wincing at herself as she noticed her own clipped tone, “I also possess a certain… _notoriety_.”

“Ah, _she’s_ either Slytherin, or else someone unpopular in our old house,” the woman leaned back in her seat, and Daphne was sure that she was wearing a smug expression under the charm, “which makes this even _more_ fascinating. Well done, Pansy.”

“They’re a pretty rare set to collect,” Pansy smirked, knocking her knee into Daphne’s under the table, “I think I’ve done rather well for myself, indeed.”

“Hmm,” the woman reached up to tap at her chin in thought, which Daphne could discern even if said chin remained vague, “around our age, if I gauge it right, which limits the options a bit. What do you think, pet?”

“Uh,” the man spoke for the first time, “I dunno. I’m not good at this stuff.”

There was something rather familiar about the voice, but Daphne couldn’t bypass the disillusionment charm to remember who it belonged to. The dynamic that seemed to exist between the man and his presumed partner seemed uncomfortable to Daphne, but if it bothered either of them, then either they didn’t show it or the charm also masked body language.

“No, you’re not,” the woman continued speaking, reinforcing Daphne’s opinion, though she patted the man on his arm (which _must_ be a large one, from how the woman seemed to wrap around it), “shall we make a wager?”

“Of what kind?” Pansy interjected, before Harry could make an objection.

“If I guess right, I get to make use of your pets for a night,” Daphne could _swear_ the woman was sneering at her, “and if I happen to be wrong, you get to make use of mine.”

“Pansy…” Harry grumbled, his frustration evident.

“I’ll handle it, hush,” Pansy interrupted,

“I’m not a ‘pet’,” Harry continued to protest, before settling himself back down.

“No deal,” Pansy rejected the wager, and took a slow sip of her drink before continuing, “they’re not available in that way, nor do I want to make use of your ‘pet’,” the next words out of Pansy’s mouth were garbled, the charm taking effect to obscure the man’s identity, “sorry, _ssshhhh_.”

“You’re missing out,” the woman kept issuing barbs, “he’s _rather_ obedient and well-trained. Very well. If you win, I’ll advertise your shop officially, and if I win, you owe me a _scoop_.”

Daphne thought she realized who the woman was, with this reveal, but the enchantment seemed to chase the name from her mind.

“Deal,” Pansy reached across the table to shake the woman’s hand.

“The way I see it,” the woman somehow conveyed a sense of self-satisfaction, “they’re both famous for something, and from how comfortable they seem with each other, I’m guessing that they’re together too, not just both with you.”

“Mm,” Pansy frowned, “yes, you’re not wrong so far.”

“Even masked, I can tell that your girl is uncomfortable being here,” the woman continued, “while the man? Oh, he’s a _dangerous_ one, isn’t he? I can actually tell that he’s getting mad at me, and that takes some _power_ to get through these delightful little charms.”

“I’m not uncomfortable _being_ _here_ ,” Daphne protested, “I just do not enjoy these sorts of games.”

“Of course you don’t,” the woman slapped her hands down on the table, her voice raising as if making an announcement, “an intelligent, well-spoken, and _prim_ woman, who’s also dating a powerful, prideful, brooding sort of man? Celebrities of some sort, perhaps? Add in the way I feel that there’s some history here, and the answer is obvious, but, frankly, I’m shocked.”

The woman leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You’re dating Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger!”

There was a moment of silence, before Pansy _flung_ her head back, positively howling with laughter.

“Ha!” Pansy cried, her words continuing to be interrupted by outbursts of laughter, “I can’t… you are _so wrong_! Not only did you miss your guess, you weren’t even close!”

 _Not_ that _far off,_ Daphne mused. Though she had to admit she was pleased to see the woman taken down a notch, the woman’s assessment of her and Harry’s personalities was uncomfortably accurate, with the description “prim”, in particular, rankling Daphne.

“My sweet,” Pansy continued to chuckle, pounding the table in mirth, “why don’t you announce yourself first?”

 _Why_ don’t _I?_ Daphne thought, bringing her face into the most haughty, disdainful expression she could muster.

“I am Daphne Greengrass,” she proclaimed.

“Fuck,” the woman across the table muttered, “I _was_ incredibly wrong!”

Pansy chose this moment to wave down a server, who quickly returned with an entire tray of shots in hand, two of which Pansy raised into the air.

“To _ssshhhh_ being wrong for once!” Pansy proclaimed, before downing both of her shots in sequence. Daphne just wished that the woman had revealed her _own_ identity, so that she could know precisely whose face she was rubbing this victory in.

“Right,” the woman answered, as if prompted, “I’m Flora Carrow.” Her features resolved into a woman of average height and build, with brown hair cut just above her shoulders. _Pretty enough,_ Daphne thought, pettily, _not exactly extraordinary._

One of the Carrow twins, Flora had - along with her sister, Hestia – been instrumental in helping to distract and otherwise reduce the harm that their Death Eater aunt and uncle had been able to cause at Hogwarts. Flora was known as the more “Slytherin” of the two, while Hestia had all but publicly renounced any association with her former house. Both sisters had wound up as different kinds of reporters following their graduation from Hogwarts: Hestia, from what Daphne could recall, reported on Quidditch, while Flora was one of the top writers who covered the Wizengamot.

 _Astoria used to be friends with you,_ Daphne recalled, _I always did think you were mean. That said, I suppose being so sharp and observant is a necessary skill. If Pansy gets along with you, I guess I’ll give you a chance._

“I’ll even do you a favour,” Flora continued, and Daphne had to admit that her tone was much more conversational now, “I won’t speak a word of this to Hestia. Merlin knows she’d spread it around. So, then, Pansy’s boy, who’re you?”

Before Harry answered, Pansy interrupted.

“Oh, you’ll know _him_ ,” she bragged, luxuriating in her victory.

“Wait,” Flora seemed taken aback, glancing at Pansy with a look of what seemed to be _concern_ in her eyes, “he’s not…”

The man beside Flora – _still unidentified_ , Daphne realized – seemed to _loom_ closer to the table, his sheer mass apparent even behind the enchanted mask.

“Marcus?” the man spoke, beginning to rise from his seat. There was something vaguely menacing about the action.

“No!” Pansy exclaimed, “no, no, _fuck_ no. Never. My boyfriend’s the exact opposite.”

“ _Sit!_ ” Flora’s voice cut sharply through Pansy’s uncharacteristic stammers, and the large man beside her immediately thudded back to his seat. _I guess he really is her “pet”,_ Daphne thought, confused by this development.

“Darling,” Pansy interjected, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes, “announce yourself, please? I don’t want any more assumptions being made.”

“Er,” if Harry was at all bothered by this odd outburst, it was impossible to tell. _If anything,_ Daphne realized, _he looks_ more _relaxed than he did,_ “I’m Harry Potter-Black.”

 _This_ announcement seemed to have the exact opposite effect on the man across the table: where he’d been – apparently – furious at the implication that Harry’s identity could be “Marcus”, his body language (that Daphne could make out) had immediately switched to being statue-still, and she was now left with the impression that the unknown man was _terrified_.

“You-you-you,” the large man stuttered, before finding the word he was searching for: “unicorn.”

_Hmm?_

“Are you okay, babe?” Flora’s body language, too, had just taken a sharp turn, as she now turned to fuss at the man who she’d just yelled commands at as if he were a dog.

“Y-yeah,” the man continued to stammer, “I, uh, I’ve got something to say. To, uh, Lord Potter-Black.”

“I hope it’s something to explain what this is all about,” Harry drawled, casually sipping his glass of firewhisky, “because quite frankly I’m baffled.”

“I thought you were someone else,” the man muttered, as it seemed that he kept his gaze downwards, away from Harry, “but now that I know it’s you, I’ve gotta say… I’m sorry.”

“Uh,” Harry quirked an eyebrow at the same time as Pansy did ( _adorable,_ Daphne thought), “for what, exactly?”

“Loads of things,” the man grew quieter, as if he were speaking towards his own chest, “I’ve, uh, I’ve done my sentence, ‘n Flora has really helped me stay out of trouble, I’m not like how I used to be.”

Harry looked to Pansy, who rolled her eyes, then to Daphne, who shrugged. _He’s one of the Slytherin students who was sentenced to something after the Battle of Hogwarts,_ Daphne presumed, _but whether it’s due to the charm or I just don’t recall, I don’t know who Flora’s boyfriend is._

“Okay?” Harry finally answered, non-committal.

“Oh, right, uh,” the man grumbled something indistinct, as Flora reached out to rub his back, “I’m… I’m Gregory Goyle.”

_Ah, that makes sense._

Goyle was never going to be considered an “attractive” man, but the years after Hogwarts had at least been somewhat kind to him, his features now looking merely “rough” rather than “vaguely like a Troll”. So too was his stature mostly unchanged; he was a _large_ man, not _fat_ in the way that he was as a teenager, but definitely not “brawny” in the way that someone like Neville Longbottom was. The most interesting thing about his appearance, really, was the thick leather collar he wore around his neck.

“Ah, right,” Harry shrugged, “yeah, no worries, mate.”

 _“No worries”, he says,_ Daphne looked across the table to Pansy, whose bemused look of exasperation must have matched Daphne’s own expression.

“Really?” Goyle did not seem to have considered this as a possible outcome.

“Yeah, s’all good,” Harry reached his drink across the table, clinking his glass against Goyle’s in a casual cheers, “I think the fact I’m dating Pansy fucking Parkinson should be proof that I’m well past all that old shite.”

“And don’t you forget you’re _so_ lucky to be,” Pansy teased.

“ _Never_ ,” Harry chuckled, and, finally, the tense mood lifted from the table.

* * *

The rest of the evening turned out to be much more enjoyable, an environment that Daphne felt more and more comfortable in. Sure, Flora was _sharp_ and had a talent for poking at Harry and Daphne alike to uncover bits of each of them, but the knowledge that she was doing so because she wanted to get to know Pansy’s partners was enough to put Daphne’s particularly frosty impulses at bay.

“Well, uh, I’ve always been the type to listen to other people, yeah?” Greg explained, answering a question that Harry had asked about how his and Flora’s peculiar dynamic worked, “it turned out that it’s, well, a bit of a thing of mine.”

“Mine too,” Flora grinned, reaching to ruffle the back of Greg’s hair, “it’s not for everyone as a lifestyle, but you saw Greg use his safeword earlier, so that’s when we go back to being ‘girlfriend and boyfriend’ instead of ‘Master and Pet’.”

“Ahh,” Michel observed, his French accent growing thicker as he continued to drink, “it is fun, to give power to another. What of you, ‘arry, is Pansy as much _la femme dominante_ as I think?”

“Oh, of course I’m in charge,” Pansy drawled, as Harry stammered through a response, “but for us, well, we tend to trade off who’s actually doing the _dominating_ , yeah?”

“ _Magnifique,_ and so many options! ” Michel replied, turning to Blaise with a needy expression on his face, “Blaise, m _a flamme_ , it has been too long since we have indulged ourselves, _non_?”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do,” Blaise chuckled, his comfort with his _own_ relationship still surprising Daphne, who’d only known him as a somewhat _promiscuous_ type (to say the least), “perhaps we will find a boy at the club…”

 _Right, I forgot that’s where Pansy drew inspiration from,_ Daphne recalled, _I think that if the three of_ us _ever wind up picking someone up together, I’d rather it not be some stranger at a club…_

“Which reminds me,” Flora interjected, unflustered by this frank discussion of sex lives, “we _should_ get going soon, if we want to skip the line. Daphne, Harry, will the two of you be joining us?”

“Ah, not tonight,” Daphne answered. Pansy had warned her and Harry ahead of time that she and her friends intended to go dancing to close out the evening, but _The Asp_ (the closest thing to a nightclub that Knockturn had to offer) frowned on magical masks which concealed peoples’ identities.

“Of course,” Blaise nodded, “not quite ‘public’ with this relationship yet, I take it?”

“Not yet,” Harry replied, as he and Daphne began to rise from the table, “one day, yeah, but for now it’s something we’re keeping to our close friends.”

After a round of goodbyes, Pansy walked with them to the exit.

“Thank you,” she murmured, pulling both of her partners into a hug, “that was… easier than I anticipated.”

“It was fun,” Harry kissed the top of Pansy’s head, “just, uh, one question, really.”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Harry licked his lips, “that part where Greg looked about ready to tear my head off, before he knew that I was, uh, _me_ : what was that about?”

“Oh,” Pansy’s face fell a bit, before the gloomy expression vanished behind her typical defiant confidence, “you know how I’ve mentioned that I’ve dated some shitty men? Well, Marcus Flint was probably the shittiest.”

“He didn’t…” Daphne started to ask.

“No, he never hurt me like _that_ ,” Pansy waved her hand, dismissing the topic, “nothing you need to hunt him down for, Auror Potter.”

“Well,” Harry smiled, pulling Pansy and Daphne tighter against himself, “good thing I’m not really an Auror, then. I’m just happy you’re doing better now.”

“You’re both a substantial upgrade,” Pansy teased, “unbelievably so, really.”

“Look at you,” Daphne kissed the side of her girlfriend’s head, “being grateful, or something.”

“Never,” Pansy laughed, “anything else, you two?”

“I still can’t believe you took us to a _sex club_ for our date, but it’s not off-brand,” Harry joked, grinning.

“It’s not a sex club,” Pansy leaned up to kiss him, then craned her head to kiss Daphne in turn, “but it’s not _not_ a sex club, I suppose.”

“That’s exactly what this git said,” Daphne murmured, the wry look that Harry and Pansy exchanged bringing warmth to her chest, “you two are impossible.”

“You like it,” Harry chuckled, and she had to admit that she _did_ , “you coming over later, Pans?”

“Don’t expect me tonight,” Pansy replied, as the trio disengaged from their three-way embrace, “with the way that Michel loves to dance, I imagine we’ll be out ‘til sunrise. You think you can handle this brute, Daph?”

“Oh,” Daphne smirked, “I’ve got _lots_ of ideas. After all,” she turned over her shoulder to wink at Pansy as her and Harry departed, “you _did_ take us to a sex club tonight.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, but grinned as she waved her partners off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a bit longer to piece together than I anticipated, and wound up being lighter on plot implications/foreshadowing than I had initially pictured. 
> 
> With that said, I hope that the fluff piece was still enjoyable! Reviews, questions, and comments are always welcome!
> 
> Up next is Harry and Daphne's "afterparty", then there's going to be a bit of a breather as this installment builds up to the ultimate party the trio will attend this year: The Ministry Winter Solstice Gala!


	6. Formal (Daphne/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Harry celebrate the end of the night, then start laying groundwork for the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, followed by plot!
> 
> As a bit of an experiment, I've decided to attach the actual document referred to in-universe at the very end of this chapter - if you aren't interested in reading fake legal documents, then I'd recommend skipping the last section of this chapter that starts with "From the desk of Lord Cyrus Greengrass" (you won't miss much, relevant parts will be explained in dialogue!)

Harry

Altogether, he’d been surprised to find that it was meeting _Pansy’s_ friends which seemed to have gone most smoothly, although he might hesitantly admit that it was likely because Pansy’s friends, by default, were already a fan of her particular quirks and habits.

While Harry was absolutely a fan of Pansy, he was just clever enough to realize that not everyone would be, and _more_ than stubborn enough not to care about what other people thought about his relationship. _Still_ , he recalled, _half-expected her and Sue to drink themselves to death with that little shot-for-shot game they played._

It was true that Harry would never call himself the most observant person in a room, particularly when it came to noticing subtler aspects of socializing, but he could _damn well_ pick up on it when it seemed like one of his friends might come to blows with his girlfriend.

“Hmm, mind fixing me a drink? I feel like a nightcap,” Daphne, his _other_ girlfriend (Harry still wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to trick the pair into dating him) asked, as she stretched languidly in the middle of his bedroom.

“Of course,” Harry answered, after a slight delay taken to appreciate her figure. He’d never really had a proper “type” when it came to what kind of build or features he was most attracted to, and Harry supposed that this would continue to elude him: Daphne had perhaps the _best_ arse he’d ever laid his eyes on, while Pansy’s breasts were absolutely _perfect_ , so between his two girlfriends, that age-old debate seemed to be perpetually unsettled in his mind.

 _Not that either are lacking in the other category,_ Harry smirked, as he walked to his lounge. Despite some of his fears about how this whole three-person relationship could work, he found that in practice, the trio simply fit together naturally, with no evidence that any of them had started to gravitate towards one of their partners to the exclusion of the other.

 _Sure, I wish Pansy was here too,_ he mused, as he poured a pair of gin cocktails, _but it’s more because I actually like being around her, not that Daph isn’t enough or anything._

When he re-entered his bedroom, he was met by a surprising – if _thoroughly enjoyable_ – sight: Daphne was sprawled on his bed, still wearing that absolutely _delightful_ outfit from earlier, her hands… handcuffed to his headboard?

“I’ve been a bit bad,” Daphne giggled, “sending you to fix drinks was just a trick to get you out of the room.”

“Mm,” Harry murmured, setting said distractions aside, “that so?”

“I thought,” Daphne up at him, her eyes dark, “we might try something a little different tonight. These little trinkets,” she rattled her restrained wrists, for emphasis, “are _quite_ comfortable, really.”

“Shame, though,” he sat beside her, trailing one hand up her side as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other, “you _are_ good with your hands, after all.”

“Well, they’re charmed to unlock if you tap them and say ‘open’,” Daphne explained, as she writhed gently in place, “but I’d rather keep them on for now, if that’s okay with you?”

Harry leaned down to kiss her, rather than bothering to reply verbally. _Of the differences between the two women,_ he thought, _I guess the bedroom dynamic is one of them._ While he wasn’t sure if he’d call it his _preference,_ per se, Harry was more than comfortable getting rough with Pansy, but the times he’d seen Daphne by herself had usually been on the more “vanilla” side of things.

Not that he was afraid of hurting her, really: Harry was fairly sure that both of his girlfriends were significantly stronger-willed than he was, and he had faith that they’d put a stop to anything that they didn’t enjoy. He supposed that it was something like Pansy and Daphne each brought a different flavour to the cocktail that was their love life, in the first metaphor that sprang to his mind.

_But if she’s asking…_

Harry adjusted his position while he and Daphne continued to kiss, pinning her underneath his body, in a way that _his_ legs were straddled over her torso.

“What else did you have in mind?” Harry asked, pressing a kiss against the side of Daphne’s neck.

“Well, that’s the thing,” she replied, her breath hitching, “you see, I’m _awfully_ helpless right now, with my hands cuffed and all, so I imagine that you can do whatever you want to me.”

 _Fuck, does she have a way with words._ Daphne’s habit of dirty-talking during sex was so much at odds with her precise, measured way of speaking the rest of the time, and the contradiction was one that drove both of her partners wild.

Harry grinned as he sat upright, pinning her hips to the bed under him, before he started to run his hands over her body. The outfit she was wearing had been catching his eye for _hours_ now, and he fully intended to take his time in exploring its particular benefits.

“A little light petting is your fantasy?” Daphne teased, smirking up at him as he traced the edge of one of the cut-out panels, as if he didn’t notice the way she squirmed when he ran his fingertip over her hipbone.

“Oh, were you presuming that I’d immediately start ravaging you?” Harry returned the teasing, tightening his grip on her hip until his fingers pressed into her flesh, “well… now that I know what _you_ want…”

He silenced her noise of playful protest by leaning down to kiss her once again, pushing his tongue into her mouth, as his other hand flew to the top of her dress ( _barely even counts as a “dress”_ ), gripping the fabric and yanking it down. Daphne gasped as her breasts were exposed, then made a soft, needy noise when his fingers instead started to travel _between_ them, Harry’s actions slow, measured.

Harry shuffled off of her, instead kneeling beside her, one hand continuing to stroke her chest while avoiding any particularly erogenous areas, the other going to rub at her thigh.

“I’m quite a fan of this look,” he muttered, touching between different squares in her fishnet stockings, as if he were playing the world’s most erotic game of tic-tac-toe, “maybe we’ll find more occasions for you to dress up like this.”

“I’m quite a fan of you wearing _less clothes_ ,” Daphne grumbled, her leg twitching slightly under his ministrations.

“Well, I can’t keep you waiting,” Harry smirked at her look of feigned petulance, rolling off the bed to divest himself from his trousers, then returning to his previous stance, “there, better?”

“You’re still not nake-mmff,” Daphne’s words were cut off when Harry pressed his still-clothed (much to her disdain, apparently) groin forward, shoving his half-hard member into her face.

 _That,_ apparently, she approved of; she began to mouth at his cock through his underwear, making a small noise of satisfaction as he started to stiffen between her lips.

Harry took advantage of her distracted state, shoving his hand underneath her hips, palming her ( _magnificent_ ) arse roughly. After a moment where he determined that she had no objections to this kind of treatment, he pushed his hand further up her skirt, gripping the back of her stockings and underwear before pulling them halfway down, trapping her legs together with her own clothing.

When he slowly, delicately ran a single finger up the length of her pussy, he found that she was absolutely _soaking_.

“Why, I think you’re enjoying this after all,” Harry teased, punctuating his statement with a gentle thrust of his hips, smothering Daphne’s response with his cock. Taking advantage of his kneeling position, he reached out to touch one side of the handcuffs binding her to his headboard, muttering “open” under his breath while he sent a spark of magic through his fingertip.

Harry reached down to grab Daphne before she realized her temporary release, flipping her over onto her front, before reattaching the handcuffs to his headboard, winding them around a pair of slats which would allow her hands to slide from the top of the board to the bottom without difficulty.

“Y’know what those are used for?” Harry asked, shifting behind her as she clambered to her knees, her hands gripped near the top of his headboard for leverage.

“What’s that?” Daphne answered, her voice hitching.

“They put them on people who’ve done something bad,” he muttered into her ear, pushing himself against her back, his still-covered cock pressing against her sex, “and if you’ve been bad…”

“Oh, I have been,” she moaned, pushing back against him, “I’m quite sure I need to be _punished_.”

Instead, Harry slowly worked down the back of her outfit, undoing clasps and loops of ribbon until the corset/dress/ _whatever_ fell away from her. He tossed it aside casually, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of his beautiful blonde girlfriend, bent over, her hips pushed _tightly_ against his groin.

He brought his hand down sharply on her arse, hard enough to produce an audible _slap_ , though nowhere near his full strength. Harry paused, leaning over her, waiting to hear if she made any complaint; instead, she just wiggled her hips against him.

Encouraged, he spanked her with his other hand, putting more force behind it, and the gasp that escaped her lips was _definitely_ not a sound of protest or pain. With one of her arse cheeks in either hand, he hauled her against him, pushing against her hard enough that the length of his erection pressed between her pussy lips.

“You’re definitely guilty,” Harry felt his own voice come out hoarsely, “of being a tease. I’ve been looking at this arse all night, in that _slutty_ little outfit of yours.”

“Oh, were you?” Daphne’s voice was _much_ rougher than his, her lust actually _audible,_ “and what are you going to do about that?”

He spanked her again in response, the sharp blow leaving just the faintest hint of redness behind, as he pulled his hips away from hers. Quickly, he shuffled his way free of his underwear, leaving him slightly more naked than _she_ was, still bound in her half-off stockings.

With a final spank, he gripped her arse firmly, tilting her hips forwards as he pulled her cheeks apart, revealing her absolutely _dripping_ sex. _Not yet,_ he thought, as he set his sights somewhat _higher_. As slowly as he could, Harry ran his tongue against one of her cheeks, before dipping inwards, circling the rim of her arsehole.

He trailed one hand around her hip, his fingertips ghosting over her pussy, touching with just enough contact to make her shudder as he licked her incredible arse. When he brushed a fingertip against her clit, Daphne _spasmed,_ her legs shaking and hips lifting even _higher_ into the air.

She was wet enough that his finger encountered no resistance when he slid a digit inside her, only liquid heat, and Harry heard her groan in pleasure as he flattened his tongue against her arsehole, licking side-to-side as he slowly pumped his fingers.

“Fuck,” Daphne moaned, “don’t stop.”

Harry, naturally, did exactly that. As he lifted himself up to a kneeling position behind her, she _whined_ with need, trying to push herself backward against him, even before he’d lined his cock up against her entrance.

“What do you want?” Harry leaned forward against her, his manhood trapped between the globes of her arse, as he spoke directly into her ear once more.

“ _Fuck me,_ ” Daphne begged, “ _please!”_

Bringing himself upright once again, Harry took a moment to appreciate the sight: in truth, Daphne’s arse _never_ failed to catch his eye, no matter what she was wearing, but “naked” was definitely his preferred type of clothing for her. He ran his fingertips slowly over the back of her hips, taking a moment to stroke the dimples on her back, before he gripped himself with one hand.

He tapped the head of his cock against her arsehole, making her shudder, before he pulled his hips back.

“I don’t think you’re quite ready for that,” Harry teased, “we’ll have to get Pansy to help break your arse in one of these nights.”

Before Daphne could reply, he pushed forward, _hard_ , sheathing his cock in her pussy in one vigorous thrust. She practically _screamed_ as he did so, Harry not having time to give her more than a handful of hard pumps before she came around him.

Normally, he’d give her time to recover, as he knew that she was prone to overstimulation at times: _tonight_ , however, he only increased the power of his thrusts, pounding into her without mercy as she began to yelp an incoherent stream of profanities.

By the point that he felt her cum a second time around his cock, her grip had failed her, Daphne’s face practically planted into his bed as she collapsed under his vigorous pounding. He gripped her arse with both hands, pushing her hips into the bed to match her torso, straddling over top of her as he fucked her from her prone position.

Daphne’s _third_ orgasm, in rapid succession, was intense enough that the clenching of her sex pushed him loose of her entirely, the wet sensation around his member enough to tell Harry that he’d managed to make her squirt from sex alone.

Somewhat pridefully, he waved his hand towards her enchanted handcuffs, releasing her once more, as he turned her back onto her back, moving to crouch beside her face.

“Suck,” he commanded, trying to put as much authority behind the words as he could.

Though he could tell she was still in a haze from her rapid-fire orgasms, Daphne’s enthusiasm to meet his request more than made up for the deficit in her typical skill: she took him into her mouth quickly, sloppily, one of her now-freed hands stroking the length of his cock that she couldn’t cover with her mouth alone.

It didn’t take Harry much longer to catch up to her, as he wound his fingers through her blonde hair, groaning in pleasure as he came in her mouth. His climax didn’t deter her at all: if anything, she started sucking harder, more intently, until he was forced to pull out of her mouth when his legs started to twitch.

“Mmm,” Daphne muttered, lying on her back in a daze, as Harry flopped down beside her, “that was fucking _great_.”

“Heh,” Harry wasn’t exactly more lucid than she was, “I agree. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I’m glad _you_ liked it,” she murmured, rolling onto his chest to cuddle into him, “it’s not so hard to do what _you_ like, is it?”

“’spose not,” Harry chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

Internally, he chastised himself to the slightest degree. _Sure_ , he thought, _it’s not really that bad to take charge, but it’s not like I’m complaining when I’m not…_ Harry knew that both his girlfriends had strongly hinted that they wanted him to be more assertive in sex, which he was happy to work on, but those scenarios which felt more like taking _command_ still felt vaguely unsettling, for some reason.

 _I’ll worry myself about my own stupid insecurities later,_ he decided, _got better things to focus on right now._

He tilted Daphne’s face up to his, kissing her gently, before the pair started to fall asleep.

* * *

“So, what’s on your plate for today?” Daphne asked, brushing her hair in front of a mirror.

“Actually,” Harry decided to float the offer, “I was going to meet with Hermione this afternoon, we’ve got some, uh, matters to discuss. No obligation or anything, but, er, you can come if you want?”

He didn’t want to exactly spring this on her, but neither did Harry want to leave the offer un-made. While he was _well_ aware that Daphne preferred to avoid the realm of politics, especially the matters centered around her father, the unfortunate reality was that he was _obligated_ to start considering the role he could play in stopping her father’s latest plot.

“Hmm,” Daphne paused, pursuing her lips in thought, “I can’t say it’s what I would _like_ to do… but I suppose I’ll have to make myself useful eventually, hey?”

“You’re already brilliant,” Harry walked to her, closing his arms around her from behind, “I want to repeat, no pressure. I know it’s a lot for you to deal with.”

“I can’t just avoid it forever,” Daphne sighed, “I _am_ somewhat of an expert on how Pureblood politics are handled, for better or worse.”

“I’d be grateful for whatever you can help with,” he kissed the side of her head, “but if it gets too much, just let me know.”

“I will,” she smiled in the mirror, and Harry pulled her a bit closer, “so… this afternoon, then?”

“Yeah?”

“So we’ve got about two hours to kill…”

She turned her head to kiss him, her tongue softly pressing into his mouth, as Harry’s hands began to drift between her legs.

* * *

Later, at Hermione’s flat, the pleasant memories of Daphne’s legs wrapped around him were all that Harry could draw on to keep his thoughts anywhere _near_ “optimistic”.

“It’s a lot to untangle,” Hermione admitted, sipping a mug of tea, “but you see what he’s pushing for, right?”

The byzantine document that Harry had just finished reading was only _occasionally_ comprehensible to him: a bill, straight from the desk of Cyrus Greengrass himself, snidely titled as “Marriage Reform and Modernization”. While Harry wasn’t certain he’d managed to puzzle out _all_ the ways that this proposal was prejudiced, biased, or just generally _shite,_ he could still tell that certain aspects were targeted at either himself, or his allies.

“Surprisingly,” Daphne jumped in to save him, “it’s not as bad as I was expecting. Still horrible, of course, but there’s parts of this that are _almost_ something approaching progressive, for a Pureblood.”

“I find that even more depressing,” Hermione grumbled, “I knew that Purebloods were old-fashioned, but some of this… the Muggle world moved past some of these ideas a hundred years ago.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Daphne sighed, “the fact that they’re actually acknowledging that marriages unaccompanied by a corresponding vow might be legitimate is, sadly, a step forwards for their lot.”

“So this whole ‘Duty of Lineage’ section,” Harry waved the document in the air for emphasis, “the part where Heads of House are obligated to marry by thirty, or lose their votes, that’s a shot at me, right?”

“You and Susan,” Daphne nodded, “I suppose Luna Lovegood, too, but there’d be some wiggle room with the ‘Noble’ part of the definition there.”

“It complicates things even more than that,” Hermione was clearly frustrated, “I mean, not to be _presumptive_ or anything, but the way it’s outlined, it’d make you Lord Parkinson if you wound up marrying Pansy, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry might be convinced to think of that possibility in another context, but not this one, “unless they’d vote against it, considering that they’re trying to control all marriages of sitting Lords or Ladies, apparently.” He pointed to another relevant section of the document, though he _also_ realized that Hermione and Daphne were both smart enough to already know what he referred to.

“That’s an odd bit,” Daphne interjected, “while it’s couched in very, _very_ traditionalist language, I’d actually be shocked to see the Pureblood types vote in favour of that section. It’s handing over a lot of control over their own affairs.”

“Is there enough benefit in the other parts that it would be seen as a concession, or something?” Hermione asked, “I’m glad you’re here, Daphne, because the cultural traditions involved here are out of my grasp entirely.”

Harry didn’t miss how Daphne perked up a bit at this recognition, and he smiled to himself seeing his girlfriend shine in this particular arena, even if it was one that he’d rather she not have to fight in.

“This is what’s really puzzling me, honestly,” Daphne answered, “this whole thing is _clearly_ in my father’s hand, but the different sections… they’re all over the map, politically speaking. The section permitting divorce is oddly forward-thinking, and yet there’s other provisions which might as well be from two centuries ago by the measure of the _magical_ world.”

“Distraction?” Harry grumbled, then continued to explain when the two women just looked at him with evident confusion, “are there parts of that he’s just putting out there so that our side can argue against them, while he’s sneaking the parts he actually wants passed through in other sections?”

“That’s…” Hermione started, before stopping to think.

“Why, awfully Slytherin of you, Harry,” Daphne teased, “not a bad thought, though. How many votes do the traditionalists have right now, Hermione?”

“A slim majority,” Hermione frowned, “it’s not ironclad, as some of the factions closer to neutral will vote against them, but, well, we’d counted your father in that number before all _this_.”

 _What’re you playing at, Cyrus?_ Harry wondered, _not that I think highly of you, but some parts of this seem a bit mean-spirited even for the most Pureblood-y Pureblood lot._

“Who’re some of the other notable voices?” Daphne had a gleam in her eye, as much as she hated this world, she was clearly still _very_ effective in navigating it.

“Burke, Flint, and Yaxley,” Hermione answered, the names clearly ones she was all-too-familiar with.

“Not surprising,” Daphne sipped her own tea, as Harry pondered whether beating the piss out of Marcus Flint might serve as a two-for-one deal, “that’s pretty much the worst of the worst. I’ll admit, even for me… I’m surprised to see my father aligning with such figures.”

“They were behaving themselves after the war,” Hermione shrugged, “and now that it’s finally starting to fade from mind, they’re up to their same old tricks.”

Harry felt as if he was missing something, so he decided to risk looking foolish by just asking what he was curious about: “So what’s our next move, then?”

“Well… that depends,” Hermione explained, “there’s a few stages of readings and revisions before this bill would go to a vote, and then that depends on how we feel about the vote itself.”

“In the immediate future,” Daphne interjected, “I hate to say it, but, well… I’m afraid you’ll want to make yourself a more public figure, Harry.”

“I was afraid of that,” Harry grumbled, though he quirked a grin at Daphne’s look of sympathy, “it’s not so bad, really. What’s that entail? Shake down a few old traditionalists? Crack some skulls?”

“Not like _that_ , Harry,” Hermione scolded him, “more to try and convince anyone sitting on the fence to fall in line with our side.”

“Oh, I’m quite in favour of your idea,” Daphne smirked, “should you get the chance, then yes, putting the fear of Harry Potter into some of the more cowardly types might well work. Humphrey Burke might well piss himself if you drew a wand on him.”

“We should win this the _right_ way,” Hermione insisted, “by democratic vote, not by… _that_. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t stand in your way, but we shouldn’t plan on Harry simply dismantling their faction by force.”

 _Why not?_ Harry mused to himself, _“sic Harry Potter on them” seemed to work well enough for Dumbledore, after all._

“Well, the next stage of battle, as it were, is obvious,” Daphne seemed _particularly_ pleased with herself in this moment, “the Ministry’s Winter Solstice Gala. It will be a ‘who’s who’ of the so-called ‘Noble’ houses.”

“That so?” Harry smirked, “well, I’ve got a ticket, so now I just need to plan my entrance, I suppose.”

“Oh, we can help with that,” Daphne’s grin was _vicious,_ and Harry knew that she meant _Pansy_ as part of the “we” being referred to.

He could hardly wait.

* * *

From the desk of Lord Cyrus Greengrass

Proposed Bill of Marriage Reform and Modernization

In this bill “marriage” shall be defined as any of the following:

  * Magical Marriage – a matrimonial bond established by a Magical Vow sworn between a Wizard and Witch, who are each the age of majority (as defined in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery [DRRUS], 1875), witnessed by at least two adults of sound mind;
  * Marriage before the Ministry – a legal oath sworn before and accepted as valid by the Ministry of Magic, establishing a state of matrimony between a man and a woman, who are each the age of the majority (DRRUS, 1875);
  * Marriage by Petition - any bond of matrimony which is accepted as valid by the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) may be brought before the Ministry of Magic to be officially recognized within the authority of Magical Britain, so long as it is not found in violation of any restrictions outlined in Section 2.1 of this bill. Or;
  * Marriage by Contract – a formal agreement between two Houses (as defined by the Wizengamot Founding Statement, 1621, see Section 3 for further definitions) to establish a matrimonial bond between two members of these Houses - a man and woman of the age of the majority – sworn to by the affected members and witnessed by the relevant Heads of House(s). This may (but is not required to) include a Magical Vow as in the aforementioned case of Magical Marriage.



Restrictions and Limitations

The following conditions may, barring exceptional circumstances, render a marriage illegal and result in immediate dissolution, on penalty of up to no more than five years imprisonment:

  * Bigamy – if one of the parties is currently married to a third party, the marriage shall be considered invalid. The following exceptions apply: 
    * Lordship of multiple Houses – should this situation arise, a Lord of more than one house is permitted (and may be obligated) to seek an appropriate wife for each of his lines.
    * In rare cases, and by the discretion of the Wizengamot, multiple marriages established in other countries (and viewed as valid by the ICW) may be recognized within Magical Britain.
  * Marriage by Compulsion – if one of the parties was found to be under the influence of any recognized charms, compulsions, curses, potions, or other deleterious effects which would cause this party to have been of unsound mind at the time of marriage.
  * Contract by Proxy – the known practice where Heads of Houses create Marriage Contracts between subordinate members of their Houses, whether living or yet to be born (e.g. “a son of House One shall marry a daughter of House Two, once both have reached marriageable age”) shall not be rendered valid **unless** both individuals this contract applies to, at their age of majority, agree to swear to the contract as defined under “Marriage by Contract”.
  * Marriage as Trade – while no restrictions are placed on any marriage which is accompanied by traditional gifts, dowries, or trades, if the Wizengamot comes to find sufficient reason to believe that any marriage was performed for the sole intent of material gain, as evidenced by factors including but not limited to: lack of cohabitation; evidence of known and accepted infidelity from either or both parties; stated intent that the production of Heirs will not be pursued, then the marriage may be rendered invalid at the discretion of the Wizengamot
  * Line Transfer by Widowhood – if a Witch obtains the Ladyship of her House-by-marriage due to the death of her Lord Husband, the Lady Widow shall not remarry unless any of the following conditions apply: 
    * Her previous marriage produced a male Heir of legal age who will assume Lordship of the House;
    * Her second husband is a member of the same House as she married into, and an Heir is produced from the marriage in no less than five (5) years from its inception;
    * She surrenders the membership via affinity in her current House (which will pass to the next Heir in line), instead joining the House(s) of her second husband, or;
    * There are no surviving male members of her House, at which point her second husband will be recognized as the Lord of that House, in addition to any House(s) of his own.



Heads of House Requirements

Those who are the active Lord or Lady of a Noble House (recognized by the Wizengamot) shall be subject to additional restrictions and requirements in the marriages they pursue, should they wish to continue enjoying the privileges of their position.

  * Duty of Lineage – the Lord or Lady of a House is required to undertake reasonable efforts to ensure the continuation of their House, including (but not limited to) entering a marriage for the purpose of producing an Heir. 
    * Should any Lord or Lady be the last member of their House, they are required to marry no later than the age of thirty (30) years, and to produce an Heir by the age of forty (40) years. If these conditions are not met, the Lord or Lady shall be presumed to be delinquent in their duty, and shall be stripped of their vote(s) in the Wizengamot unless there is reasonable evidence that the production of an Heir is being actively pursued.
  * Duty of Propriety – any marriage pursued by a sitting Lord or Lady must be approved by majority vote of the Wizengamot, as to prevent any of the Restrictions and Limitations outlined in Section 2 of this Bill from negatively impacting the stature of their House, or any other form of unsuitable match that would reflect poorly upon the nobility of their House.
  * Duty as Liege – a Witch who is either the sole heir of her House, or active Lady of her House via inheritance, shall pass Lordship of this House (and all associated powers and privileges) to her husband upon marriage, unless any of the following conditions apply: 
    * Her husband is not Heir to his own House, and has sworn to abdicate his place in the lines of inheritance of that House;
    * Her husband is not a member of a Noble House, at which point the Lordship shall pass to the next suitable Heir of her House, or if none exists, shall be deferred to the next suitable male Heir of that line, or;
    * The Lady is the last surviving member of her House, **and** both parties agree to consolidate their Houses into a new line, which will preserve the individual rights of both the Lady and her husband, while ensuring that any Heirs produced will instead be afforded the combined rights, responsibilities, powers, and privileges which are appropriate to the status of this new lineage.



Divorce

“Divorce” shall be defined as the termination of a matrimonial bond while both man and wife survive. This shall be awarded at the discretion of the Wizengamot, with consideration for successful petition including (but not limited to):

  * Infidelity on the part of either party;
  * Suspected infertility, where the pursuit of producing Heirs has been unsuccessful despite the best efforts of both parties;
  * Derangement, degeneracy, disappearance, or life imprisonment of either party;
  * Abandonment of matrimonial life by either party, or;
  * Unreasonable and excessive cruelty on the part of either party.



The Wizengamot shall not be responsible for any prices paid or burdens afflicted due to either party becoming forsworn from a previously-sworn Magical Vow, though these factors may be considered in the decision to grant or forbid any individual divorce.

The Wizengamot shall not be responsible for negotiation or renegotiation of any aspect of a Marriage Contract, but will generally hold that in the event of divorce, any powers or privileges granted to either member as a result of their past marriage shall be revoked.

Any Heirs produced as a result of the marriage shall be considered to remain within the lines of succession for any relevant House(s) from each of their parents, up until such a time where these Heir(s) may be required to abdicate one (or more) of these lines, if remaining in this line of succession would cause them to violate any of the above restrictions in this bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to reviews, comments, and questions about this chapter in particular!
> 
> I'd especially like to see what any particularly diligent readers thought of Cyrus's proposed bill - I don't expect that it is airtight (nor is it meant to be), but I tried to work a few _nasty_ little traps for Harry and his friends in there, as well as a couple loopholes that he and his allies might cleverly exploit ;)


	7. Get-together (Daphne/Harry/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple vignettes from the trio's ongoing relationship and another party, as the Winter Solstice Gala slowly approaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut and fluff all over this chapter! No real plot to be found :P

Pansy

Frustration was nothing new to Pansy, but this particular source of it was something she was still adjusting to. Her business, _Serpentine,_ had continued to grow more popular, and yet her private commissions _still_ tended to outpace her retail sales, thanks (surely) in no small part due to role that her most _reliable_ customer played.

The customer being, of course, one _Miss_ Fleur Delacour. Nothing had been out of the ordinary when it came to the part-Veela, but “ordinary” was not a phrase which applied very accurately to Fleur. Pansy was fairly certain that Fleur wasn’t even _trying_ to be seductive or anything along those lines, it was just that the blonde practically _dripped_ sensuality by her very state of being.

 _You shared a bottle of wine with a half-naked Veela,_ Pansy thought, _and you_ aren’t _shagging her. What happened to you, Pansy?_

It wasn’t even that Fleur was the reason that Pansy was frustrated. While she was certain that she’d never exactly get _used_ to Fleur’s casual toplessness, things had stayed mostly professional, focused on Fleur’s desire to put together a new, winter wardrobe… at least until Fleur had started regaling Pansy with the tale of her latest hook-up.

 _“Oh, I saw a man this weekend,_ ” Fleur had casually explained, while obviously flaunting the hickey at the top of one of her breasts, “ _he was promising at first, oui, but for all his claimed ‘dominance’, he fell to pieces as soon as I began to ride him. He was actually begging on his knees before I left.”_

 _“That’s not so bad,”_ Pansy had shrugged off the images as best as she could, “ _to have some big, strong man reduced to begging like that.”_

 _“Bof!”_ Fleur’s slip into French slang – roughly equivalent to “so what?” – was _definitely_ irritating and not at all appealing, _“it is so… selfish! I do not want to be in charge all the time, if a man is going to take the kind of pleasure he wants from me, I would rather he **take** the pleasure he wants from me, non?”_

Although Pansy could, in some ways, sympathize with Fleur on this front, neither was this the source of her frustration. While Harry’s continued hesitance to take charge during sex wasn’t her _preferred_ dynamic, it wasn’t exactly a problem for her, and the very last thing that Harry fucking Potter could be accused of was “being selfish”.

 _No,_ she reminisced fondly, _he’s_ very _happy to satisfy whatever Daphne or I desire, even if it takes the oaf a couple pushes to get into the role._

While Pansy wouldn’t deny that she would _absolutely_ enjoy the chance to be the one leaving a hickey on Fleur’s tits rather than some nameless (and disappointing) Wizard, it wasn’t envy that was responsible for her mood either. Harry, Daphne and herself had yet to exercise the quasi-open aspect of their relationship, but if they were to do so, then Pansy wondered if Fleur might not be _too_ interwoven in their circles to be a good candidate for the trio’s first foray into such avenues.

Surely, the part-Veela was interested (she’d made it all but _actually_ obvious), but Daphne wasn’t as intrigued by Fleur as Pansy herself was. Not that the two blondes didn’t get along, or anything like that, but they simply didn’t seem to have the spark of _chemistry_ with each other that Pansy seemed to share with Fleur.

 _Granted, she can be pretentious as fuck,_ Pansy recalled, _but that just makes her more entertaining._

Neither was Pansy bothered by Daphne’s _own_ obvious interest; while Pansy and Susan Bones _absolutely_ did not get along, at least “open hostilities” was more exciting than the polite, cool pleasantries that Daphne tended to exchange with Fleur.

The third member of their trio, of course, was absolutely, mind-bogglingly content to stay out of either of those possible-but-who-knows developments. Pansy was equally confident that Harry would happily _ruin_ Fleur (if Pansy merely requested it of him) and that Bones would make an enthusiastic exception to her typical preferences for him, yet Harry tended to merely shrug these possibilities off and maintain his easy-going friendships with those women.

 _Morgana’s tits,_ Pansy thought, _most men would be leaping at the chance to take Luna Lovegood up on her actual **,** explicit, **blatantly obvious** offer to sleep with him, yet the lummox hasn’t even firecalled her since she left town. _

While Lovegood wasn’t exactly Pansy’s type in terms of personality, she’d happily admit (and _had_ , to Harry, _repeatedly_ ) that the blonde Witch was absolutely gorgeous, and Pansy would find a way to have fun even if she wasn’t exactly going to sit down for a long conversation with her. _Fuck’s sake,_ Pansy had thought, _Lovegood probably thinks doggy-style is “kinky”, it’d be fun to break her into something a bit more adventurous if nothing else._

But Pansy wasn’t frustrated by the way that her relationship had remained closed between Daphne, Harry, and herself: sure, she sincerely desired to take another woman to bed with the three of them eventually, but she was in no rush.

Part of what had Pansy frustrated was the realization, long after Fleur had left, that she was feeling _needy_. Pansy’s libido wasn’t exactly difficult to get going, so the way that she had started to fantasize about her partners as soon as she was alone was a predictable result, but she’d already told each of the pair that she was going to be busy for the next few days and wouldn’t have time to see them.

So when she found herself with her enchanted notebook in hand, a message already penned to Daphne inquiring what she was up to, she was seized by the instinct to erase the words, to slam the notebook shut and stick to the designs that she had _said_ were going to occupy her. After all, going back on her word would look _pathetic_ or something, right?

The realization that she was being an absolute _idiot_ was, truly, what drove her frustration with herself. She _knew_ that neither Daphne nor Harry would be bothered if she changed her mind, that she wasn’t showing weakness or desperation by wanting to see her girlfriend and/or boyfriend, and yet her first instinct was to avoid them just to stay in charge, somehow.

 _Fuck it,_ she smirked, _they know how mercurial I am._

“Hey,” she sent the message to Daphne, “what are you up to? Free tonight?”

“I was going to surprise Harry when he gets home,” the reply came after a brief delay, “I thought you were busy tonight?”

“Changed my mind,” Pansy replied, “coming over.”

This, too, was a surprisingly welcome development in their relationship: Harry had not only brought Daphne and Pansy into the wards at 12 Grimmauld Place, but given each of them their own key to his house. “It’s just a place,” Harry had nonchalantly explained, “you can come over whenever you feel like it, even if I’m out.”

Apparently, Daphne was already taking advantage of this offer, and Pansy was quite eager to join her in doing so. Quickly closing her shop for the night and activating her security charms, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder and hurried to her destination.

On arrival, it did not take long to find Daphne looking uncharacteristically bashful, wearing an apron and standing in the hallway leading to Harry’s kitchen.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Pansy greeted her girlfriend as she kicked off her heels, “where’s our boy?”

“He should be arriving fairly soon,” Daphne fidgeted, and Pansy approached her, falling into the desire to comfort her girlfriend with surprising ease.

“What’s the surprise you had planned?” Pansy assumed it had something to do with the apron Daphne wore, but she was _hopeless_ in the kitchen, so couldn’t be of much help there.

“Well, I may have bit off a bit more than I could chew,” Daphne admitted, “I was going to make supper, but I think I focused too much on the first course…”

“Oh?”

When Daphne spun around, demonstrating what she meant, Pansy swore that her mouth began to water for reasons _entirely_ unrelated to food. Daphne was, apparently, wearing the apron and _nothing else_.

“Fuck,” Pansy closed the distance, pressing a kiss into the back of Daphne’s neck, “now _I’m_ hungry.”

* * *

Harry

He was eager to get home, especially since Daphne had mentioned that she had a “surprise” waiting for him, then refused to provide any more hints or details. Harry would prefer spending time with his girlfriend over _most_ activities, let alone spending the afternoon at Gringotts, poring over the details of his various _statuses_ to try and determine how certain proposed legislation might affect him.

As he entered 12 Grimmauld Place, he heard soft, enthusiastic noises coming from his kitchen, and rushed to remove his shoes, loosening his tie as he hurried to discover what, exactly, Daphne had planned.

Harry was delighted to discover that his _other_ girlfriend had shown up at some point, even though Pansy had said she was busy, but the sight greeting him stole any further words from his mind immediately.

Daphne was standing in front of the kitchen table, one of her feet perched on it, while Pansy knelt behind her, _enthusiastically_ eating her arse. He threw his tie aside, unconcerned with where it landed when _this_ was what he saw.

“Hey, babe,” Daphne greeted him, her voice hitching, “surprise!”

“She’s _delicious_ ,” Pansy spoke as she removed her head from Daphne’s arse, pausing to spank their girlfriend with both hands, “hope you’ve got an _appetite,_ Harry _._ ”

Harry smirked, realizing why Daphne was wearing an apron, as he crossed the kitchen to stand in front of her. He took Daphne’s face in his hands, kissing her gently at first, though the urgency with which she pushed her tongue into his mouth quickly inspired him to meet her intensity as they snogged vigorously.

Pansy, meanwhile, was apparently just as eager to make out with Daphne’s arse, making shameless wet sounds as she enthusiastically shoved her face between the blonde’s cheeks.

“I had planned to make supper,” Daphne explained, between pleasurable gasps, “but Pansy was impatient.”

As if challenged, Pansy’s hand snaked between Harry’s legs, immediately reaching for his cock over his trousers. The way that Pansy so clearly _wanted_ the two of them was enough on its own to start making Harry hard, and the way that she was still in her professional clothes while rimming Daphne was enough to get him the rest of the way there.

He quickly divested himself of his trousers, and before he could even begin unbuttoning his shirt, Pansy had switched tacks, now shoving her face between _his_ legs, messily and loudly slobbering on his cock.

“Fuck, Pans,” Harry groaned, in between kisses with Daphne, “you _are_ eager.”

“I decided,” she slurred, pulling back from his member, a trail of saliva still connecting her mouth to him, “that I couldn’t go a few days without a good hard fuck. Now, get to it!”

She slapped his arse to encourage him, as he repositioned himself behind Daphne. The blonde’s height was a definite asset for this position, her hips already in line with Harry’s own, the leg she had raised to the table spreading her open so that he could slide into her easily.

Of course, Pansy’s hand guiding him in definitely helped, Harry and Daphne letting satisfied moans out together as Pansy scrambled to reposition herself underneath Daphne.

“Fuck, you’re not just hungry, you’re starving,” Daphne teased, as Pansy slid so that she was between both Harry and Daphne’s legs, her head angled up into Daphne’s sex from underneath. Instead of replying, Pansy began to _messily_ lick at both of her partners, devoting equal time to licking at Daphne’s clit, and running her tongue over Harry’s balls.

Harry leaned over to kiss Daphne as he slowly rocked in and out of her, Pansy’s enthusiastic oral attention bringing a pleasurable new twist to this position. He was momentarily distracted when Pansy reached behind him to slap his arse again, her next command muffled by Daphne’s pussy: “ _Fuck her_ , Harry.”

_Well, if you insist…_

He obliged Pansy, beginning to thrust more vigorously, but she was apparently not yet satisfied, as she slapped his arse once more. Throwing caution to the wind, he repositioned his hands to Daphne’s glorious hips, beginning to _fuck_ her hard, enjoying both the way her arse bounced against his hips _and_ the way he could actually feel his balls slapping into Pansy’s face.

If the brunette had any complaints, they were secondary to the low, guttural moan she let out. One of her hands left his arse, and he could only presume that she’d put it between her own legs, judging from how the motion of her tongue grew erratic.

“ _Yes!”_ Daphne moaned, reaching behind herself to hold on to Harry’s neck, “ _like that!”_

He kept pounding her, his hips slamming into her arse hard enough to make her cheeks ripple, as Pansy latched her mouth on to Daphne’s pussy, loudly slurping at her even as Harry continued to thrust powerfully. Daphne didn’t last long under their combined attention, moaning loudly, her weight sagging against Harry as her legs quivered. She came _hard,_ the way that Harry’s cock slipped from her wet sex surely indicative that she’d had one of her _squirting_ orgasms.

His suspicion was confirmed by the sight beneath him when he stepped back: Pansy was an absolute _mess_ , her face wet from Daphne’s cum, her eyes wide and glazed over with lust, entirely out-of-place with the sleek, professional outfit she wore.

Seized by an impulse, Harry reached down to grab Pansy under her arms, hauling her bodily to her feet, before pushing her onto his kitchen table. He pushed her black pencil skirt up her smooth legs, pulling her hips to the edge of the table, before he slid her panties to the side and pushed his cock inside her.

“Fuck yes,” Daphne encouraged him, kissing him from where she stood beside her partners. Her hands weren’t idle either, peeling Pansy’s white dress shirt up her body, yanking Pansy’s bra aside so that her tits were exposed.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Pansy whined, and Harry did. The way her breasts jiggled as he thrust into her was just as appealing as watching Daphne’s arse, and he was struck once more by how spectacularly lucky he was to be able to shag two _absolutely fucking gorgeous_ women.

Beside him, Daphne fussed with her apron, throwing it aside in short order, her earlier plans of making supper similarly discarded in favour of this _much_ more pleasurable pursuit. Harry watched her cross to the other side of the table on shaky legs, her height coming in handy once again as she stood with her long legs on either side of Pansy’s head.

“Yessss,” Pansy hissed, “fuck my face, Daph.”

The blonde giggled, but immediately set about doing just that: the sight of Pansy’s pink tongue flickering against her pussy as Daphne thrust her hips against their girlfriend’s face was one that Harry immediately committed to memory.

Daphne grinned at him, over the prone form of their girlfriend, and Harry felt a twang of affection as he took in her expression. She was slightly flushed, perhaps slightly due to a blush, given the hint of bashfulness in her face, and all things together was absolutely _beautiful._

He leaned across the table to kiss her, the tenderness of the gesture contrasting wildly with the way that each of the pair thrust their hips against their girlfriend underneath them, each of the two _fucking_ her in a different way. Harry trailed his hand between Pansy’s legs, brushing his thumb over her clit, and the quick stimulus was enough to set off _her_ orgasm, her legs twitching and her core tensing as Harry continued to spread her wide open.

“Pans,” Daphne whined, “gonna cum again,” the blonde’s hands, in turn, landed on Pansy’s tits, the brunette’s pierced nipples peeking out from between her fingers.

“I’m close,” Harry grunted, “same time?”

“Fuck yeah,” Daphne muttered, as her thrusts against Pansy’s face grew shorter, more erratic. In turn, Harry began to focus on his own pleasure, sawing in and out of Pansy’s hot cunt with long, purposeful thrusts.

When Daphne came, she leaned back, her chest thrust forward, her skin flushed from her elegant neck to the top of her breasts; a sight that pushed Harry over his own peak, pulling out of Pansy’s slick sex at the last possible moment. He moaned out loud as he came in four powerful spurts, covering Pansy’s torso in cum from her navel to her – spectacular – tits.

Giggling again, Daphne stepped back, kneeling in front of the table to lean over Pansy, licking the cum from her tits. For her part, Pansy had been apparently fucked wordless, continuing to lie spread-eagle on the table, a smug expression on her face.

Harry felt his cock twitch, where it lay against Pansy’s well-fucked pussy, still half-hard. He’d noticed that one _definite_ benefit of dating two women at once – barely worth mentioning when measuring it against all the other ways his life was more _fun_ with the pair – was that his stamina had improved dramatically. He was quite capable of repeat performances, which often came in handy considering the _considerable_ sex drives his girlfriends possessed.

 _Fuck, you two are incredible,_ he thought, not for the first time.

“Mmm,” Pansy murmured, satisfied, “you like that, Harry?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, as Daphne smirked up at him from where she’d been licking one of Pansy’s nipples.

“C’mere,” Pansy ordered, and Daphne apparently caught on faster than he did, giggling as she stepped aside.

Harry replicated Daphne’s earlier position, standing straddled over Pansy’s face, as she leaned up to suck on his cock without even using her hands.

“Fuck,” he grunted, twitching from the way she drew his cockhead between her lips, still sensitive from his previous orgasm just minutes before.

“Mmf,” Pansy’s response was muffled by his cock, but the way she reached over her head, gripping his arse in her hands again couldn’t be mistaken.

“You’re a big fan of grabbing my arse today,” Harry teased, as he began to rock his hips, thrusting his member slowly into her mouth.

“Mhmm.”

Without warning, her hands gripped _tightly_ , pulling him forwards so that the entirety of his length disappeared down her throat. The way that she was laid on her back must have made the angle easier, but Harry would _never_ cease to be impressed when she deep-throated him.

“Fuck, she’s brilliant,” Daphne murmured, impressed, as her hand gently traced over Pansy’s throat, which practically seemed to strain over Harry’s cock.

When he pulled back, withdrawing from her mouth, Pansy spanked him _again_ , making a whining noise of disappointment until he put his cock between her lips once again. _Fuck, I’m lucky,_ he thought, feeling her tongue dragging over his shaft even as he began to carefully fuck her face.

They established a rhythm in short order, Harry hunched over the side of the table, his hands pawing at Pansy’s tits, his hips rocking back and forth in short thrusts into her mouth. Taking advantage of the unusual position, Harry leaned forwards even further, planting his own mouth on Pansy’s pussy.

“Mmmmm!” she cried underneath him, yanking his hips against her own face with even more intensity.

He was aware of Daphne leaning in beside him as he set about devouring Pansy’s pussy, the gentle kiss she placed against the back of his neck sending shivers shooting down his spine and between his legs. Standing up slightly, he removed one of his hands from Pansy’s breasts, instead hooking three of his fingers inside her, roughly thrusting his digits in and out in the way he knew she liked.

It wasn’t long before Pansy stiffened once again, her shriek almost entirely covered by his cock in her throat, as her sex clamped and spasmed around Harry’s fingers. Smirking, he stood upright, letting Pansy suck at his cock rather than continuing his thrusts.

Daphne interjected again, coming to stand behind him, her hands laid over his hips. She pulled him back, his cock springing free from Pansy’s mouth, covered in drool, and Daphne’s hand immediately took its place, jerking him off quickly, the slick sensation of Pansy’s spit making him shudder.

“Cummmm,” Pansy moaned. The _need_ in her voice, accompanied by the way that Daphne gently bit the spot where his neck met his shoulder, made Harry _explode_ all over her face, ropes of cum landing on Pansy’s tongue, across her cheeks, and in her mouth.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, sagging back into Daphne, who easily supported his weight, murmuring gentle encouragements in his ear.

Pansy groaned wordlessly, but clearly _very_ satisfied, as she laid still, panting for breath.

“That _was_ going to be part of my surprise,” Daphne teased, running her hands up his chest, “but I’m glad Pansy was here, I can’t take a face-fucking anywhere near that well.”

“We can always practice,” Pansy replied, her words somewhat slurred, a grin on her face.

“Oh, we _will_ ,” Daphne promised, “but anyways, I _am_ still going to make supper tonight. Harry, have a seat.”

“I don’t mind helping,” he protested, but Daphne was insistent. Harry really wasn’t used to being _taken care of,_ but he was finding that it was easier to accept than to try and argue with one ( _or both!)_ of his girlfriends when they decided to pamper him.

“I’m aware,” Daphne kissed him once more, then took _her_ turn to swat his arse. _What is it with these two and my arse tonight?_ He wondered, mirthfully, “but you always make breakfast, so I want to do something for you tonight. Well, you _two,_ I suppose. Pansy, you staying for supper?”

“Yeah,” Pansy groaned, rolling off the table to rise to her feet, “fuck it, I’ll go back to work tomorrow.”

“Anything you’re particularly feeling like?” Daphne inquired, as she retrieved the apron she’d discarded.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pansy locked eyes with Harry, then made a show out of collecting an errant streak of his cum with her fingertip, before popping her finger into her mouth, “I just ate.”

Daphne groaned, rolling her eyes, as Harry joined Pansy in practically _cackling_ at her joke.

* * *

Daphne

_A few weeks later_

For the first time since her youth, Daphne found herself actually _excited_ for a party, with no traces of doubt or hesitation spoiling her mood. She knew that she could thank her partners for this unfamiliar level of comfort, the easy routine that the trio had fallen into being one that felt… _right_.

Not to say that she was entirely free of her typical worries or uncertainties: while she thoroughly enjoyed Harry’s company in any context and was glad to be able to help him, the informal “lessons” she’d been providing him on Pureblood etiquette and expectations were far from her favourite way to pass the time.

Unfortunately, such measures were necessary to prepare for the _next_ upcoming party, one that she had _significant_ doubts over: the Winter Solstice Gala. With her father’s recent efforts to manipulate the Wizengamot and pass laws governing marriage, it was going to be more important than ever that Harry struck the right kind of impression, that his presence at the gala would help to consolidate support among families who weren’t already allied with him.

Thankfully, tonight was much more informal: Draco and Ginny Malfoy were hosting a Hallowe’en party. As the couple apparently made a habit of, the event was a blend of Muggle and Wizarding traditions, both a costume party and a celebration more in line with traditional Samhain festivities.

Checking her own costume over in the mirror once more, Daphne nodded to reassure herself, then left her apartment.

One of the _other_ routines that had begun to fall into place was that she was no longer entirely sure if her apartment really counted as “her apartment”, often serving more as her studio rather than where she spent most of her time. Harry had yet to actually bring up the possibility of any of the trio moving in together, but it had transpired that she’d spent more nights at his house than at hers of late.

Pansy, too, seemed to slowly be moving out of her flat, possibly without her own awareness. She certainly kept enough of her clothes and shoes at Harry’s, which (if asked) Pansy would undoubtedly chalk up to “convenience” rather than admit that she barely slept in her own bed. Somehow, the Ice Queen, the Chosen Boy, and the Queen Bitch of Slytherin had found themselves in a dynamic where they shared a bed most nights.

Which wasn’t to say that the trio had become entirely codependent, as each of the three still enjoyed their own privacy at times, which Daphne was fairly certain was a result of each of their natures. Though not a topic that she ruminated on, she had wondered at times if any of the pairs making up the trio could even work as a couple absent the influence of the third member.

Daphne wondered if, without the presence of Pansy’s dynamic energy, her and Harry might settle into comfortable routines too easily, risking growing bored of each other over time. Then again, if it was _her_ that wasn’t present, she could see Pansy and Harry falling into excess together, spinning apart dramatically after burning bright and fast. If her and Pansy were dating and Harry wasn’t involved, well, they tended to _scheme_ , which too easily fell into pettiness if left unchecked.

As she arrived at Malfoy manor, she couldn’t help a smile reaching her face. As much as she’d insist that she was a rational and pragmatic woman, there was a streak of _romance_ in the composition of Daphne Greengrass, and she was so very grateful that she managed to find people who made her as happy as Pansy and Harry did.

“Hey, Daphne!” Ginny greeted her on arrival, the redhead – dressed as a member of the Weird Sisters, if Daphne had it right - was an increasingly-familiar figure in her life, as hers, Harry’s, and Pansy’s circles of friends had begun to blur together, “come on in! Harry’s here already!”

While their relationship was not quite _public_ yet, the guests at the party tonight were mostly people who had already been let in on the secret, which was another reason for Daphne’s excitement. Though it might not be time to make declarations or be _too_ obvious about it, the chance to be around her partners at an actual _event_ was thrilling.

It didn’t take her long to spot her boyfriend, leaning against a wall, engaged in casual conversation with Hermione and Viktor. The theme of the party was “Fame and Fearsome”, where costumes were encouraged to represent either a celebrity, or something frightening. While she and Pansy had chosen the first option (though she still didn’t know what Pansy’s “it’s a secret” costume was), Harry had elected to go with the second.

Her boyfriend – brilliant, foolish, charming, and frustrating man that he was – had decided to dress up as the _bloody Bloody Baron._ She rolled her eyes even as she approached, giggling despite her own exasperation.

“Of _course_ you’d dress up as the ghost of Slytherin House, you prat,” she teased, watching Harry crack a wry grin as he ran his eyes up her.

“What? I thought it’d make you feel at home,” he waggled his eyebrows – which had been charmed to be at least _thrice_ the size they were normally – at her.

“Hello, Daphne,” Hermione sighed, clearly just as exasperated by his antics. She and Viktor had also chosen the “fearsome” side of things, dressed as Frankenstein’s creature (which was perhaps a bit _too_ fitting with Krum’s frame) and his Bride.

“I know this one!” Viktor proclaimed, gazing at Daphne’s costume, “the American, yes? The actress!”

Daphne twirled in place, her dress billowing just as it was charmed to do, finishing the motion with a classic pose.

“Marilyn Monroe, yes,” Hermione patted Viktor’s arm, “although more than just an actress, it could be said that…”

“You look great,” Harry murmured to Daphne, as Hermione continued explaining what “sex symbols” were to her boyfriend, “told you that you’d pull it off.”

“Oh, hush,” she blushed at the compliment nonetheless, “and _you_ look positively _frightful._ ”

Harry rattled his “chains” at her, grinning shamelessly.

“Any word from Pansy yet?”

“She should be here soon,” Harry replied, “let’s grab a drink, first.”

To an outside observer, they probably looked like a pair of friends, or perhaps it seemed as if Harry was _trying_ to pick her up, but internally, Daphne was beaming. She’d seen many different sides of Harry in private, but when she compared him to the man that she knew _publicly_ even a year ago, he seemed much happier, more outgoing.

Draco had set up a well-stocked bar, including a punch bowl that – presumably – packed more of a kick than any given bottle of liquor would. Harry served her a glass, and her first exploratory sip confirmed her suspicion: there was at least a _hint_ of disinhibition draught in the punch, not to mention the powerful taste of magical rum.

“Evening, Daph,” Ronald spoke as he approached the bar in turn, “good to see you, mate. Where’s your third musketeer?”

“Oh, fuck, that would have been a good costume,” Harry chuckled, knowing that he was teasing Daphne with how it absolutely _wouldn’t_ be a good costume.

“Actually,” Daphne realized, “we don’t know what she’s dressed as. I suppose she could be in the crowd.”

Ronald’s eyes grew wide suddenly, and he sputtered into his glass of punch, coughing as he recovered.

“Nope!” he cried, seeming to nearly choke with laughter, “I’m pretty sure she just arrived!”

“Move aside!” Pansy’s familiar voice cried, her tone more imperious than Daphne had heard in _years_ , “make way for your hero! The chosen one wants to drink!”

Harry _howled_ in laughter beside her, doubling over as he took in Pansy’s costume, and it took all of Daphne’s considerable restraint not to fall to the floor in her own mirth.

Though she’d noted a passing similarity in some of their features before, Daphne _never_ would have imagined that Pansy would take it this far, but if anyone had the brashness and sheer _audacity_ to pull it off, it was Pansy Parkinson.

Striding towards them, wearing an intentionally-disheveled Gryffindor uniform, her hair styled so it stuck up in every direction in an unruly mess, an enormous pair of round spectacles on her face, and a giant lightning bold emblazoned on her forehead; Pansy, dressed as Harry Potter.

Ronald actually broke into _applause_ behind them, as Harry struggled to do anything but continue laughing, Pansy confidently walking towards Daphne.

“Hey, beautiful,” she announced, her voice pitched to sound deeper than usual, “want a drink? Did you know I’m _very_ famous?”

“Heh,” Harry chuckled, “I’m not _that_ confident.”

“A hundred points to Gryffindor!” Pansy cried, seamlessly turning to storm towards the bar, “for bravery!”

She pulled a bottle from the table, as an astonished crowd of onlookers stared at her, then took a deep swig directly from it.

“Hah!” Pansy breathed fire into the air – _firewhisky, then, how fitting_ – before continuing her boisterous act, “that was easier than playing Quidditch! Which, did I mention, I am very good at!”

Blaise, following in Pansy’s wake, made his way over to the bar, his expression halfway between unrestrained awe and deep embarrassment.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Pansy continued to yell, “I feel like dueling him! I am _very_ strong with magic, by the way!”

“Pansy, no…” Blaise shook his head, a grin escaping from behind his hand even as he covered his mouth.

“Potter, **yes**!” Pansy strode into the crowd, her brief stop at the bar surely enough to cement her place as the best costume of the night.

“She’s fucking incredible,” Harry murmured behind Daphne, his hands ghosting over her hips while everyone was watching Pansy’s performance.

“I can’t believe you two,” Daphne teased, “what have I gotten myself into?”

* * *

Pansy

“If I remember right, I _did_ tell you to go fuck yourself once, and now you’re telling me you aren’t up to the challenge?” Pansy teased, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry practically _giggled_ in response, as Daphne – bless her patience, really – sighed in frustration yet again from across the room.

“What about you, Daph?” Pansy called out, “ever thought about shagging _two_ Harrys at once?”

“You’re absolutely mad,” Daphne replied, “and absolutely brilliant.”

“Fine, fine,” Pansy sighed, in false protest, “I’ll go take off the makeup.”

She smirked to herself as she went to Harry’s ensuite bathroom, absolutely pleased with how well her costume had been received. The medal which Draco had transfigured on the spot (“Best Costume Ever”) was one feather in her cap, but the way that Harry had absolutely gone into _hysterics_ when she’d shown up dressed as _him_ was her real source of satisfaction.

“I’ll fix my hair, too,” Daphne announced, as she followed behind Pansy, leaving Harry lounging on his bed, a grin still on his face.

“It _was_ pretty good, wasn’t it?” Pansy chuckled to herself, the question completely rhetorical.

“It’s funny, you know,” Daphne teased, embracing Pansy from behind, before separating to begin removing the curling charms from her hair, “on the way to the party, I was getting all sappy, thinking how lucky I am to have you two and all. It’s nice that you reminded me that it’s _you two_ who are lucky to have _me._ ”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Pansy made an exaggerated pout in the mirror, “I had to try something different, since I’m not pretty enough to pull off Monroe, unlike some.”

“You could’ve been Bettie Page, you know,” Daphne kissed her ear, raising goosebumps on Pansy’s neck.

“I… fuck, that actually would have been brilliant,” Pansy shrugged, “I think this was more fun, though.”

“You were the star of the show already,” Daphne moved her lips lower on Pansy’s neck, making her shudder, “and what _prize_ do you want?”

_Hmm._

“You know the thing we talked about?” Pansy saw the fire in her own eyes in the mirror, as Daphne nodded, “go get the strap-on, it’s in the second bedroom on the third floor.”

“The ‘sex dungeon’, you mean?”

“It’s a good name, but a bit cliché.”

“We tried bondage _once_ in that room,” Daphne _bit_ the side of her neck this time, “but I see your point. You going to get Harry started?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Pansy confirmed.

The last of the makeup charms banished, Pansy’s face had returned to her own, distinctly non-lightning-bolted features. After casting a familiar charm in preparation for the night’s activities, she hurried to rejoin Harry in his bedroom. The giddiness she felt was something that _might_ be able to be written off by the effect of magical liquor, but Pansy was – perhaps – willing to admit that she was actually just _happy_ from spending the night with her partners.

This giddiness carried over to the way that she practically _pounced_ on Harry, _flumping_ her body on top of his, practically crawling up him to take his face in her hands before kissing him fiercely.

“Hey,” he smiled up at her, and she swallowed any further words with her lips.

She reached under his t-shirt, running her fingertips over his abdominal muscles, before lifting it up, pulling it over his head so quickly that he had to thrash around to extricate himself. Just as eagerly, Harry pulled her own shirt off, their faces crashing together again as each of them pulled at the waistbands of the others’ pants.

“Where’d Daph go?” Harry murmured, as he pulled her sweatpants over her hips, tossing them aside.

“She’ll be back,” Pansy nipped at his bottom lip, “don’t worry.”

Harry lifted his hips to help her remove his pants, and then she was on top of him again, except now both were naked. She felt him growing hard underneath her, his erection bumping against her own sex at times, hot and stiff against her skin in a way that _electrified_ her.

She reached between them, grasping his cock, smirking against his lips as she heard him gasp in pleasure, before aligning him with her entrance and sinking down _hard_ on his length, sheathing him entirely in one go.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, reaching around her to grab her arse. _Good thinking, Harry._

“Mmm,” she murmured a reply, rolling her hips, still getting used to having him inside her despite the _considerable_ frequency with which they shagged.

“Merlin, you two look great,” Daphne spoke from the door, her arms behind her back. She hurried to join her partners, kicking her pants off in a way that was _far_ too elegant, Daphne’s practiced grace on display even now.

Pansy took a moment to appreciate her girlfriend’s figure; her long legs, the way her pink, nearly-invisible nipples stood out from her breasts, and _certainly_ her magnificent arse. She thought back to Daphne’s earlier light-hearted teasing, and realized that all _three_ of them were really, truly lucky to have found the other two.

Neither did she neglect her boyfriend: rocking her hips against him, cooing as his cock filled her pussy _very_ pleasurably, she ran her eyes over him in turn. While he didn’t exactly have breasts, Pansy supposed that his hard chest, tattooed and scarred, was appealing in its own way. The cords of muscle that stood out in Harry’s arms had been surprising when she’d first seen them, but now she had come to _thoroughly_ appreciate his unexpected strength.

 _To say nothing of his cock, fuck,_ she bit her lip, as she began to gyrate more forcefully.

A dip in the bed behind her announced Daphne’s presence, and the soft hand at her back, urging her to lean forwards, confirmed that Daphne was on board with what Pansy had asked her. She felt Harry’s hands tighten on her arse cheeks, spreading her open, and moaned contentedly when Daphne’s tongue traced along the inside of one of said cheeks.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Harry said over her shoulder, presumably watching Daphne’s torturous teasing around her arsehole.

“Just you wait,” Daphne’s voice was deep, sultry, before her tongue ran over Pansy’s rim, producing a gasp from the brunette despite her best efforts.

Underneath her, Harry began to rock his own pelvis against her, the combined sensations of her two partners treating her to this delight already coiling in her belly pleasurably. Pansy felt little sparks going up her spine every time Harry would thrust up as Daphne teased her backdoor, not bothering to restrain the gasps and whines that escaped her lips.

“You ready, darling?”

“Fuck, yes,” Pansy whined.

“Hmm?” Harry made a noise of curiosity, but didn’t exactly protest, continuing to slowly fuck her as Daphne retreated to the foot of the bed.

“Daph asked me if I had requests,” Pansy moaned as she felt the blonde’s hand at the base of her spine, pushing her so that her hips tilted forwards, “and I want _both_ of you to fuck me tonight.”

“Oh,” a gleam appeared in Harry’s eye, “ _oh!_ ”

She felt the tip of the magical strap-on prod against her, as Harry slowed his own thrusts, giving Daphne time to enter. An upgrade from the previous models, _this_ particular toy was charmed in a way that helped pass sensations from the artificial phallus to its wearer, which Pansy had _thoroughly_ enjoyed when she’d used it on Daphne.

Maybe later, when Daphne was feeling brave enough, she might take _her_ arse with it.

“Ffffuck,” Pansy groaned, as the tip of the toy slid inside her. She’d cast the charm to prepare earlier, but she’d _never_ attempted taking two at once before, and she felt like every sensation was magnified a thousand times.

“Fucking hell,” Harry whispered under her, pulling her tighter against him.

“She feels so good,” Daphne groaned, and with another push, sunk the strap-on past Pansy’s entrance, inside her arse.

“Holy fuck,” Harry muttered, as the trio remained stationary, all three connected together.

“Fuck,” Daphne whined, “does it always feel this good for you, Harry? She’s so fucking tight.”

“It’s because I’m so fucking full,” Pansy moaned, absolutely contended with this state, “I’m ready. _Fuck me_ , both of you. _Please._ ”

With Harry beneath her and Daphne behind her, it took her partners a moment or two to establish a rhythm, but in short order they were each sliding their cocks (whether real or artificial) in and out of her holes, penetrating her in turn. At times one would stop their thrusts while fully hilted inside her, leaving her feeling _amazingly_ full when the other would slide in and out, and at other times they’d alternate thrusts, ensuring that she was always being fucked by _one_ of them at any time.

It didn’t take long at all for her to reach her first orgasm, or her second. By the time a few short minutes had passed, Pansy was uttering a non-stop stream of moans and profanity, not even conscious of the words she was saying to encourage her partners.

“Not gonna last long,” Harry grunted, “feels too good.”

“Me neither,” Daphne sighed, “Pans, you doing good?”

“Fucking amazing, don’t fucking stop, fuck, fuck.”

She heard both her boyfriend and girlfriend chuckle at that, a bit of synchronicity which she’d find cute as soon as she had the brainpower to spare for anything other than the cocks inside of her. Daphne began to pick up her tempo, her hips slapping against Pansy from one side, as Harry’s hips met her from the front, the two pistoning back and forth with Pansy trapped in between.

“Fucking make me yours,” Pansy cried.

 _Fuck, that’s new,_ she realized, the dirty talk having taken a turn of sorts, before discarding any kind of uncertainty. _I am yours,_ _and you’re mine,_ she knew.

Pansy wasn’t entirely certain, but she was _reasonably_ sure that the trio managed to reach their final climax at the same time, from how each of her partners stiffened, crushed against her.

“Wow,” Harry finally muttered, “that was… intense.”

“Yeah, wow,” Daphne exhaled a breath, giggling, “the way the strap-on feels in her… _wow_.”

“Fuck, I agree,” Pansy flung her arms out, wrapping one around Daphne and Harry each, “that was fantastic.”

“Only the best for our girl,” Daphne teased, kissing one side of Pansy’s head. Any murmured protests fell away when Harry kissed the other side of her head, and finally Pansy allowed herself to sink comfortably into sleep between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a long one! Hopefully it was worth the (slightly delayed) wait!
> 
> I'm looking forward to hearing the reactions to this chapter - it's simultaneously some of the fluffiest /and/ smuttiest content I've written yet :P 
> 
> More plot to come...


	8. Gala - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne, Pansy, and Harry make their separate entrances to the Winter Solstice Gala - the biggest event of the year!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purely plot!

Daphne

_You can do this,_ she thought, as she took a deep breath, steeling herself one final time before she stepped out of the taxi, passing a galleon to the driver as a tip. One of the rare examples of ways that the Wizarding world took inspiration from the Muggle, their emulation of London’s “black cabs” was a suitable way to arrive at the Winter Solstice Gala.

Daphne was – as she had anticipated – the first arrival. As Susan’s own guest, her place wasn’t necessarily one of _honour,_ per se, but it was one which would nevertheless place a certain _visibility_ around her arrival. As she strode through the gates at Bones Manor, she was aware of a couple reporters taking photographs of her, which was also something she already expected.

The Winter Solstice Gala was a tradition which, in darker times, had mostly fallen by the wayside. Now that the Wizarding world had officially proclaimed itself rebuilt from the Second Wizarding War (whatever the truth was), events such as this had re-taken a prominent role in their society, _particularly_ in Pureblood society.

This meant that the gala was likely to be the single biggest social event of the year, one which would be attended by basically all of the movers and shakers of their world, which in turn meant that it would be _the_ occasion to peddle influence, take note of who seemed to be aligned with whom, and otherwise engage in the agonizing Pureblood tradition of _networking_ as a form of political power.

Daphne _hated_ the idea. Were the circumstances even slightly different, she wouldn’t have been caught dead at this event in a thousand years. The unfortunate reality was that she _had_ to attend tonight, and more than that she _must_ be at her very best in the world of backroom dealing; the influence and alliances that would be traded at the gala would have great consequences on the future of not only Wizarding politics, but on _her_ life.

According to Hermione and Susan’s assessments, roughly a third of the overall Wizengamot was opposed to her father’s recent machinations, while another third were in favour. This left the remaining fence-sitters – Lords and Ladies who had yet to take a convincing stance for or against – as potential allies who might be turned against her father.

Harry, Pansy, and herself had _thoroughly_ planned out the roles that each of them would play tonight: hers was relatively easy, to serve as an example of the “new Purebloods”, more open-minded and accepting than the previous generation. _Not far off reality, really,_ she considered. Pansy, on the other hand, was going to play to the pride and pretension of Pureblood culture, publicly questioning how it would benefit their society by allowing _the Wizengamot_ into their private lives.

Daphne thought that Harry had the most difficult task ahead of him, to act a tripartite role of “the Man-Who-Won”, “Lord Potter-Black”, and “Harry Potter” all at once. Despite her own reservations, he’d been nearly eager to act as the public face of the arguable “reformist” faction of the Wizengamot, confusingly proclaiming that he’d “had to act as worse people before” to brush off her concerns.

Passing through the grounds, Daphne entered Bones Manor proper, taking in the considerable effort that Susan had undertaken to decorate her residence for the event. The “winter solstice” theme was clearly in effect, enchanted ice carvings suspended by tangles of mistletoe lining the halls, pale white colours offset by bursts of green and red in a way that came off as absolutely _magical_.

Of course, her _own_ work served as the centrepiece for this decoration: while Daphne was not so arrogant as to consider herself a _master_ of her craft, she had to admit that “ _Winter’s Embrace”_ was one of her finest achievements to date, a towering sculpture of white marble that depicted two female figures in _clearly_ intimate proximity to one another, while just managing to avoid any _explicit_ depiction.

When Susan began to descend the lobby staircase to greet her, Daphne’s breath caught in her chest, left with the impression that Susan must be the _second_ work of art in her foyer. The young Lady wore a vividly red dress, the shade halfway between “holly” and “crimson”, which complimented the rich auburn of her hair (worn in a single, elaborate braid) _very_ nicely.

The accents of Susan’s outfit similarly caught the eye: glittering splashes of ice-white diamonds set in wreaths of white gold, with glimmering rubies and emeralds serving to continue the colour theme of her gala. _She looks every part a noble Lady of status,_ Daphne thought.

 _Of course, she also looks like a veritable_ goddess _of winter,_ her observations continued; Susan’s dress was not _revealing_ in its cut, but the way it hugged the shape of her body was certainly not _conservative,_ and the triangle of _deep_ cleavage revealed at the top of her chest (beneath an eye-catching necklace) was deserving of a statue or three all by itself.

“Greetings, Miss Greengrass,” Susan announced, grinning as she did so, “welcome to Bones Manor!”

“Greetings, Lady Bones,” Daphne replied, “there’s something to be said for tradition, after all, I suppose. Everything looks… _fantastic._ ”

“You look fantastic as well,” Susan complimented her, and Daphne was sure that she must have blushed slightly, “let’s have a drink before the guests arrive, yeah?”

Susan’s appearance was _nearly_ enough to make Daphne feel underdressed by comparison. Though she knew that she was considered beautiful, her own white gown was much more traditional, accented by sweeps of ice-blue satin, her silver jewelry completing the look. Her _“Ice Queen_ ” reputation was one that Daphne wished to move away from, but for tonight, at least, it had its purpose to serve.

As the two women stood in the foyer, each having a glass of champagne, engaged in easy, casual conversation, Daphne couldn’t help but retreat to her own thoughts somewhat. She wasn’t blind to the fact that Susan was _clearly_ interested in her in a way that went beyond “artist and patron”, nor was she oblivious to the fact that she was _receptive_ to that idea.

However, Daphne was as of yet unwilling to actually acknowledge this dynamic beyond hypotheticals (or the occasional bout of dirty talk, or fantasizing…), as it seemed that there were several factors which would prove inconvenient should such an _idea_ start to become reality. Most obviously, Pansy and Susan did not get along at all, the pair of women often engaging in open antagonism and trading barbs at most events they attended together.

The gala was nearly guaranteed to lead to yet another one of these interactions, though Daphne hoped that both her girlfriend and Susan would at least manage to keep to a _relatively_ civil standard, in the midst of so many other Lords and Ladies. While Susan wasn’t exactly in the “inner circle” of the schemes that the trio were enacting, she was at least aware of the fact that Pansy was on the same side as her, which Daphne hoped would limit the hostility between the two.

She had her own, private suspicions that those “hostilities” were actually something that both Pansy and Susan _enjoyed_ , but she’d yet to voice those thoughts to Pansy (let alone Susan) for fear of her speculation backfiring. If anything _were_ to develop with Susan and the trio, then the dynamic between Pansy and Susan was something that they’d have to sort out for themselves.

The relationship between their third member and Susan gave Daphne pause in the completely opposite way: Harry and Susan enjoyed an easy, energetic friendship with each other, but it seemed to be absent of any _romantic_ kind of energy. This made sense, as Harry was the sort who seemed to be consciously oblivious to any interest a woman might have in him, while Susan’s own preferences in her partners had been (to date, at least) specifically _female._ Daphne doubted that this was an _unresolvable_ scenario - she’d certainly caught Susan’s gaze lingering on Harry at times in a way that _definitely_ wasn’t indicative of an _exclusive_ interest in women - but Harry seemed to require obvious, explicit declarations in order to even begin _considering_ the possibility that someone would sleep with him.

Still, the bold, brash redhead seemed to bring _some_ kind of confidence out of her boyfriend, which was yet another vague possibility that intrigued Daphne. Harry’s passivity was no longer a cause of _worry_ for her, but she (and Pansy, too) were always encouraged when they could inspire him to behave a bit more assertively.

As the first guests began to arrive, Daphne put such ideas out of her thoughts for the time being. Exchanging a quick, friendly hug with the gala’s hostess, Daphne strolled to a nearby window, taking note of the different guests making their appearances. While it was certainly more _interesting_ to consider the possibilities with Susan (no doubt spurred by the fact that, were she single, Daphne was _certain_ she’d end the night in Susan’s bed), the fact of the matter was that Daphne had a _role_ to play.

One of the first guests to arrive were the Malfoys, making their entrance from a horse-drawn carriage, a subtle way of proclaiming both the traditional status of their house _and_ the acceptance that their newest Lord had for Muggle conventions. The arrival of Lord Humphrey Burke, on the other hand, was foretold by the appearance of intricate lines of magic spiraling through the air, a teleportation ritual more “sophisticated” than mere apparition. _Curious, who’s his guest?_ Daphne wondered, as the traditionalist noble appeared to have brought along a young, male... relative(?) rather than his wife.

The vague allegiances of other guests were similarly hinted at by their mode of transportation: the Longbottoms (Neville and Hannah, as Augusta chose not to attend) had arrived by portkey (simple, not pretentious or flashy), while the ancient Lord Yaxley had made his appearance from a carriage drawn by winged horses, a retinue of House Elves swarming to unroll a carpet before his feet as he and his son entered the manor grounds.

The Minister’s own arrival was as precisely measured as everything she’d heard about the man: Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived in a plain black taxi just as she had, but _Daphne_ hadn’t arrived in the company of several Aurors in black suits, and certainly not alongside… _Narcissa Black?_

Daphne’s heart skipped a beat when a vehicle pulled up which could _surely_ only mark the arrival of one person in particular: a magical limousine, enormous and gilded, operated entirely by spells and enchantments rather than any _mundane_ form of machinery. The vehicle operated under one of the Parkinson family’s many businesses, a replacement for the Knight’s Bus for those who would never _dare_ to sit in the company of _common_ Wizards and Witches.

The driver, in his crisp suit, hurried to unroll a green, velvety carpet in front of the passenger door, before rigidly opening it and standing at attention as – of course – Pansy left the vehicle, making her own entrance in _style_. She wore ( _naturally_ ) a robe of her own making, one which was so _ostentatiously_ formal that it went past “conservative” and circled all the way to “regal”.

 _Good show,_ _Pans,_ Daphne thought, momentarily wishing that she could discard their plans and publicly greet her girlfriend, _now, we just have to wait for Harry to arrive…_

Her boyfriend had _some_ sort of plans for his own entrance, but he’d been unusually _coy_ about what said plans involved, stubbornly refusing the guidance of either Daphne or Pansy with uncharacteristic insistence that he knew what he was doing.

She couldn’t wait to find out.

* * *

Pansy

Pansy kept her posture straight, her expression only _slightly_ disdainful, as she entered Bones Manor for the first time. Her appearance at the gala was meant to be _firmly_ on the “Pureblood” side of magical culture, with all the pretentiousness and barely-disguised arrogance that entailed.

Of course, she’d happily admit that she _was_ both arrogant and pretentious, which didn’t bother her in the slightest, but Pansy would usually direct those sorts of behaviours towards the useless twits which she instead intended to _impress_ this evening. Her parents had – unexpectedly – sent their own pair of tickets to her, along with written instructions to “represent House Parkinson properly” and a _suggestion_ of different rich old men that she might bring as her plus-one, their uncharacteristic generosity paired with the _absolutely characteristic_ ruthless self-promotion her parents were so skilled at.

She felt a flutter of affection on spotting Daphne, one which she ensured didn’t reach her face, though she’d be absolutely _overflowing_ with compliments for her girlfriend as soon as they were in private. The blonde was _stunning_ , her white dress and elaborately braided hair making her look like some untouchable, practically divine manifestation of beauty.

“Greetings, Heiress Parkinson,” Susan Bones spoke to her, the traditional salutation for these kinds of occasions, “welcome to Bones Manor.”

“Greetings, Lady Bones,” Pansy returned the traditional words, “I accept your hospitality.”

“No plus-one?” with the quasi-oath completed, Bones was now free to exhibit her so-called wit, “I am _so_ surprised that you don’t have any promising suitors. I believe Lord Bletchley remains a widower, if you would like to be introduced…?”

_A widower because he’s fucking ninety years old, of course._

“Oh, I am quite fine, thank you,” Pansy smiled in an intentionally-cruel way, “I would not expect you to trouble yourself with finding _suitors_ , especially since you abstain from such matters yourself.”

While it was not a true Magical Oath, the ritualized form of greeting that Pansy had exchanged with Bones still carried a certain sense of _obligations_. Guests who were insulted by their host, or vice-versa, would have the right to challenge a duel to seek redress, a tradition that certainly served to promote the atmosphere of faux-politeness and disguised allusions in place of actual _hostility_ in Pureblood culture.

Luckily for Pansy, she was well-practiced in this arena, and though she was playing the role of a _particularly_ snotty Pureblood woman tonight, in truth she didn’t even have to behave much differently when it came to trading barbs with Bones.

“Who can truly say they are an expert in matters of the heart?” Bones’s expression was similarly polite, “there is, after all, no accounting for personal taste, or lack thereof.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” Pansy made a wave to gesture at the interior of Bones manor, “I _do_ so love what you’ve done with the decoration, how delightfully quaint! Did you place the charms yourself?”

In truth, Pansy was actually somewhat impressed with what Bones had accomplished, but she might as well take the opportunity to “politely” needle the redhead and imply that she lacked the means to hire decorators.

“Not at all,” there was a brief flash of frustration across Bones’s face, which disappeared behind her admittedly well-handled poise, “there were a number of talented artists involved! Speaking of which, you should really see the centrepiece, I am _rather_ impressed with the sculptor.”

Pansy hadn’t actually seen Daphne’s sculpture yet, and on _this,_ at least, she could agree with Bones. The marble carving was intricate, beautiful, and _sensual_ , clearly depicting two women fucking each other without actually being _obvious_ about it.

“Very nice,” Pansy agreed, “I can see why it is to your _preference_.”

“Oh, very much so,” Bones smirked at her, “I think that I may retain the artist for future works, even!”

“Hmm, I think that displays of this quality might be better suited for a more artistic setting,” Pansy returned the redhead’s smirk with a cool, tight smile, “perhaps I might offer the artist an _exclusive_ contract.”

“Why, _Miss_ Parkinson, that is rather unlike you!” Bones took a slow drink from her glass of champagne, “after all, isn’t it ‘bad business’ to commit oneself so exclusively? One never knows when a better opportunity may arise, yeah?”

 _Fuck you,_ Pansy thought, politely accepting a glass of her own from a passing server, _you’re actually pretty good at this._

“Ah, the nature of any given contract must suit the situation, that much is true,” Pansy took a drink herself, “but often it is sufficient to provide specific incentives, ones which lesser competitors would be unable to match.”

“Oh, I’m _quite_ curious what such ‘incentives’ would entail,” Bones smirked again, frustratingly, “but I’m afraid that this topic will have to wait for another time, I must greet my other guests. Good evening, Heiress Parkinson.”

“Good evening, _Lady_ Bones.”

Pansy glanced to the side as Bones departed, catching a quick glimpse of Daphne in conversation with Neville Longbottom, a smile flashing across her girlfriend’s face for an instant when their eyes met. In this moment, there was nothing that Pansy wanted more than to cross the floor and _thoroughly_ stake her claim on Daphne, but she knew that this thought was both impulsive _and_ playing into Bones’s hands.

Pansy Parkinson was _many_ things, but one thing that she was absolutely **not** was “stupid”, which she’d bloody well have to be to not pick up on the dynamic that Daphne shared with bloody Susan fucking Bones. After she’d given it some thought, Pansy had finally confirmed to herself that she wasn’t jealous of Bones whatsoever, and if anything, was absolutely _eager_ to prove how much _better_ she was compared to the redhead.

Still, Pansy supposed that she could give the gala’s hostess _some_ tiny bit of credit, if nothing else she seemed to be competent enough to handle the Pureblood convention of speaking in hints and subtle implications, and though it wasn’t exactly to Pansy’s preference, she _could_ admit that Bones’s dress tonight was actually quite stylish.

She floated around the growing crowd idly, stopping to briefly greet different people (such as Draco and Ginny Malfoy) who she “should” be associating with, playing the part of the disaffected, spoiled Pureblood woman to perfection. Pansy spotted Blaise’s mother across the room, but had absolutely _no_ intention of spending more time in the company of Adrienne Zabini than was absolutely necessary, the woman terrified even _her_. Pansy almost pitied whoever the man (at least twenty years her junior) in her company was.

One of the _unexpected_ sights was that of a _different_ friend’s mother: Narcissa was in attendance, in the company of the Minister of Magic himself. Pansy knew that Narcissa had some sort of role with the Ministry, but the details hadn’t been a topic of conversation the last time she’d taken tea with the older witch, and she was _not_ convinced that Narcissa was there in any sort of “official” role no matter what the Minister might claim.

As expected, the gala was a concentration of the upper echelons of Wizarding society into a single event, many of the guests which Pansy spotted ones that were vaguely familiar to her from her father’s dealings, or even from the Daily Prophet. One of the only notable absences was that of Hermione Granger, but as part of their preparation for this event, Hermione and Daphne had decided that Harry should attend alone, to keep the focus on himself.

Not that he had shown up yet, which was _also_ according to their plans: Pansy had suggested that Harry make his arrival slightly late, enough so that his delay would be considered “disrespectful” by the most stringent customs, but not so much that it would be _actually_ disrespectful to Bones, who for some reason seemed to be one of Harry’s closest friends.

_No accounting for taste, indeed._

The most curious set of attendees were those that Pansy was less familiar with personally, but overly aware of by reputation; the trio of Lords Burke, Yaxley, and Selwyn were _infamous_ for all of the wrong reasons. None of the three had ever been Death Eaters, their support of _that_ abominable ideology being limited to subtler, harder-to-prove means.

What was most curious to Pansy was the guests that each of the three had brought along. Archibald Yaxley wasn’t an _unexpected_ plus-one for his Lord Father, she supposed, and Lord Selwyn’s guest sure had the Selwyn _look_ about him, but she didn’t recognize Lord Burke’s guest at all. It wasn’t unknown for an older Lord to bring his son or heir to events such as these, but it _was_ unusual that some of the most public traditionalists had all chosen to engage in this custom at once.

As she was watching the trio of Pureblood men, her observations were interrupted by a _loud_ , deep rumbling sound coming from above. Humphrey Burke flinched at the sound, but very noticeably, the three younger men merely flicked their gazes to the ceiling, their reactions seeming _trained_ somehow.

Pansy, similarly, controlled her own reaction, wandering towards a window as if she were merely somewhat curious, rather than the actual thrill of excitement she felt. Her boyfriend had been _infuriatingly_ cryptic about his planned appearance at the gala, accepting only the most general advice about how to convey himself properly, leaving her with no clue what he had planned.

Knowing Harry Potter, the racket in the sky above Bones manor was _sure_ to be the first step in announcing his presence. _Not one for subtlety,_ she thought fondly, _which is just how he needs to be tonight._

 _Fucking hell,_ she thought, and didn’t even bother to hide her jaw dropping in surprise.

Harry had _mentioned_ it before, but seeing it in action was something entirely else. A fucking _motorcycle_ carved its way through the sky, spewing flames from its exhaust pipe, the fiery display and bone-shaking _roar_ it emitted bringing to mind the image of an actual fucking _dragon_ circling to land in front of Bones Manor.

She watched him kick off the bike, swinging his legs easily from the seat, throwing his head back to flick his hair from his eyes. The comparison to a dragon was only reinforced by his apparel, finally solving the minor mystery he’d left her with, when Harry had seemed _particularly_ interested in asking what, exactly, counted as “proper apparel” for a Noble Lord.

The practice was rare and mostly outdated, but Lords who had achieved sufficient renown in battle were permitted to wear armour in place of dress robes, and Harry had, apparently, taken _full advantage_ of this possibility.

He wore a suit of actual fucking _dragonhide_ armour, the bulky plates seeming to fit him like a second skin as he strode confidently through the courtyard, flicking a cigarette aside that burst into sparks in a casual display of wandless, wordless magic.

_Holy fuck._

Pansy didn’t often think about it, and neither would Harry be the one to bring it up, but in this moment she could **not** ignore that _this_ was the man who killed Voldemort, the one who had ended the Second Wizarding War by his own hand, one of the most powerful living wizards in the world.

An awed hush fell over the crowd as Harry came through the doors, his footsteps seeming to _boom_ and echo as he entered, as if he were _actually_ larger-than-life rather than merely _seeming_ to be so, every set of eyes in attendance locked on him, where he stood, looking every inch like a mythical hero made real. His armor glittered, his gaze smoldered, and his sheer _presence_ loomed.

 _Merlin, Morgana, and Nimue,_ Pansy would have _stuttered_ if she tried to speak these thoughts, _you’re going to absolutely_ ruin _me later, Harry._

* * *

Harry

He felt somewhat ridiculous as he stood in the foyer, well aware of the fact that everyone was staring at him. While he knew that this was the impression he was _aiming_ for, actually experiencing it was another matter entirely, reminding him uncomfortably of times like the Triwizard Tournament.

“Greetings, Lord Potter-Black, Champion, Grand Sorcerer,” Susan called out, an absolutely _manic_ grin on her face, “welcome to Bones Manor.”

 _Fuck, I forgot I had that last title,_ Harry remembered, _at least it’s better than some of the other ones I’ve been called._

“Greetings, Lady Bones,” he had to force himself not to begin his reply with “er”, as he so often did, “I accept your hospitality.”

It didn’t take him long to spot Daphne in the crowd, looking _gorgeous_ in a white dress, and as he took a quick inventory of the attendees, so too did he spot Pansy in short order, looking equally gorgeous. Her sophisticated, complicated black gown had its effect somewhat spoiled by the _gleeful_ look on her face, but Harry supposed that if she liked it so much, he could show off _occasionally._

The other guests were basically everyone that he’d been told to expect, a mix of his friends (Draco and Neville), adults he’d first met as a child (Ollivander, Kingsley and - apparently - Narcissa?), and other vaguely-familiar faces from the Wizengamot.

Everyone was _still_ staring at him, which was frankly absurd when there were other, much more impressive-looking people like Daphne, Pansy, or even the hostess herself, Sue, in attendance. For a moment he wished that he’d managed to convince Hermione to come with him, but she had been _insistent_ (as had Daphne) that he show up solo, to make an impression by himself.

 _Well, I guess that’s a success_.

He made his way vaguely towards Neville, swiping a glass of champagne from a passing server as he did, the fact that Daphne was also in that direction _surely_ just a coincidence in the eyes of the no-doubt-suspicious Lords and Ladies in attendance. Harry found the _piercing_ gaze from Blaise’s mother particularly unsettling.

One of the only notable absences Harry noticed was, worringly, the villain of the evening: Daphne’s father was not in the crowd. Harry doubted that he’d be quite so lucky as to find Cyrus Greengrass deciding to skip the biggest social event of the year, so the fact that he hadn’t yet made his own appearance was troublesome.

“Hey, Neville,” Harry said in greeting, not bothering with the traditional exchanges of “Lord this”, “Heir that”, not when it came to one of his best friends, “nice to see you.”

“Nice to see _you_ ,” Hannah interjected from Neville’s side, “is that _dragonhide?_ ”

“Er, yeah,” Harry drained his glass of champagne, setting it aside casually, “dealt with a dragon in Romania a few years back.”

The uncomfortable silence in Sue’s home had, at last, begun to dissipate, replaced by hushed murmurs and indistinct chatter. Harry was conscious of the space surrounding himself, Neville, and Hannah, as if the other guests were afraid to approach him too closely.

 _Not quite the right way to find allies,_ Harry sighed.

“Quite the entrance, _Lord_ Potter-Black,” a familiar, drawling voice spoke behind him, and Harry was once more aware of the ridiculous fact that Draco’s taunts were now a source of comfort, “hard to miss, that.”

“You know me, _Lord_ Malfoy,” Harry couldn’t help but let a bit of sarcasm enter his voice, “always have to be the center of attention, yeah?”

Draco grinned in response, clapping a hand to Harry’s shoulder, and the gesture seemed to _finally_ dispell the strange tension in the room, conversation returning to its previous levels. Harry was glad to busy himself in casual conversation with his friends, catching up with Ginny (able to attend thanks to the winter break in the Quidditch season) always one of his favourite activities.

Not that he was _entirely_ idle, scanning the room even as he chatted. It seemed that most of the other guests had made use of their own plus-ones, most of the various Lords standing beside their wives (he was happy to spot Arthur and Molly Weasley, who were talking to Lavender’s parents), but the trio of hostile-looking young men surrounding the Lords Burke, Selwyn, and Yaxley were a notable exception from that trend.

 _I think I recognize that one,_ Harry thought, taking a look at the man in Burke’s company, _but if I’ve met him before, it wasn’t in Britain._ That young man was clearly _not_ part of the Burke family, which made Humphrey Burke's choice in guest even more strange. _Maybe he’s a new son-in-law?_ Harry wondered. He couldn’t recall off the top of his head, but he _thought_ that the Burke family had a daughter or two in their main branch, who had avoided being caught as _proven_ Death Eaters, at least.

He already hated having to consider these types of things: sorting through the complicated webs of who married whom, where favours were owed, what loyalties had been purchased, and the like; all that apparently passed as “culture” to Purebloods. For all that Draco had been an absolute _prick_ while they were at Hogwarts, at least he’d never exactly been subtle about the enmity the two men used to share. Harry was mostly grateful for Daphne's patience when she tried to educate him on these matters, and for Pansy's sharp-tongued, cutting assessments of the relevant figures ( _"Lord Selwyn is cruel, but weak", "Lord Burke is a fucking coward", or "there's trolls smarter than Lord Yaxley, but he's filthy rich",_ and so on).

 _Speaking of “not subtle”…_ Harry thought, as a braying shriek echoed through the Bones courtyard.

It seemed that Lord Greengrass had finally deigned to make his appearance, a full ten minutes past the point where (according to Pansy) lateness stopped being “non-traditional” and started becoming “insulting”. His _chariot_ was drawn by a pair of Griffins, who landed within the courtyard itself, rather than just outside (which Harry understood to be the _polite_ place to park your transportation).

 _Even I can figure that one out,_ Harry grumbled internally, _showing up with leashed Griffins?_

As the Lord at the centre of Harry’s recent stress entered Sue's house, Harry was struck by a very specific similarity: though he didn’t resemble the man in _appearance,_ in his general demeanour and the practically visible waves of pure _pretentiousness_ rolling off him, he couldn’t help but see Lucius Malfoy standing in place of Cyrus Greengrass. Though Lucius would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban (and all of Draco, Narcissa, and the Wizarding world were better for it), it seemed almost as if the Wizengamot had manifested his spiritual successor, as if there always had to be _someone_ causing problems for ordinary people, some sort of spirit of _pure dickheadishness_.

 _Pansy's rubbing off on me,_ Harry thought with amusement.

“Greetings, Lord Greengrass, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,” Susan announced, polite despite the _loathing_ she held for the man, “welcome to Bones Manor.”

“Greetings, Lady Bones,” Cyrus, on the other hand, practically sneered, “I accept your hospitality.”

Harry glanced over at Daphne, and wasn’t surprised to see her lips drawn tight, her body language noticeably stiffer than usual. He wanted to go reassure her, but he knew that this would be too _obvious_ a declaration in these circumstances, especially since he and his girlfriends had decided that he’d be publicly portraying himself as an eligible bachelor.

He couldn’t help but feel a point of pride for her when he saw Cyrus’s gaze flick to Daphne’s sculpture in the middle of the foyer, then to his daughter, disapproval clear on his face. Still, if Cyrus made any further notice of Daphne, it was masterfully disguised, as he didn’t even glance in her direction when he passed by, walking to join the group of Burke, Selwyn, and Yaxley. The way that Lord Selwyn's gaze slid from Cyrus, to Susan, and back didn't sit well with Harry, but he supposed it was only typical of the men.

 _Just add Lord Flint,_ Harry thought, _and you’ve got the most noteworthy Pureblood prats trying to fuck us over once again._

Still, Harry supposed that this was kind of the _point_ of attending this gala, to determine where various allegiances lay, and to see if any less-certain houses could be swayed to vote against Lord Greengrass. The obvious conspiracy gathering around Cyrus was not _that_ big of a deal, all things considered, as they were at least only dangerous _politically,_ rather than people who might try and curse Harry when his back was turned.

 _The trio of confrontational young men in their company might be another matter_ , he knew, _and I sure fucking hope they try something._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly set-up in this chapter, with a few little hints at different details of this universe buried at random parts of the narration :P 
> 
> Also the pay-off of a bit of foreshadowing first established back in The World's a Stage, with Harry rocking up to a gala in a suit of armour... subtle, he is _not_!
> 
> I'm curious to know if you have any ideas or speculation about what might be coming next, as well as any comments/reviews/etc. in general!


	9. Gala - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy and Daphne attempt to gauge the loyalties of various attendees, then tensions come to a head

Pansy

In the minutes following Harry’s _impressive_ entrance, Pansy had taken account of how his appearance (and the subsequent arrival of Lord Greengrass) had seemed to ripple through the gathered crowd. The usual suspects who were already familiar with Harry – Houses Malfoy, Longbottom, Weasley, and so on – had barely reacted, but Pansy was more concerned with the _unusual_ suspects, anyways.

Harry was performing rather well in his task, from what she saw, milling about and speaking to different Lords and Ladies _outside_ of those he was already friends with, and quite a few times Pansy saw someone staring at his back in barely-disguised awe as he departed. The disgraced former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, actually _shook_ when Harry had approached him, exchanging a terse handshake and muttered words before leaving him behind in short order.

Pansy doubted that a display of power would be sufficient in itself to convince any of the more dedicated traditionalists to change their minds, but it certainly couldn’t _hurt_ to remind them of the fact that they risked making an enemy out of a man who might well be magically _unstoppable. Not like Flitwick or McGonagall would decide to stand against him,_ she mused, recalling some of the other notable powerhouses of the _arcane_ aspect of their world.

 _It’s really too bad that Granger is Muggleborn,_ she thought (though in contrast to the prejudice she believed in during her youth, it was now for _practical_ reasons), _if she was in House Shafiq, or Fawley, or something like that, they’d be able to command the entire Wizengamot between the two of them._

Befitting her role as a “young Pureblood lady”, Pansy meandered through the gala, exchanging polite greetings when she should, disdainful not-quite-sneers when it was “appropriate” (though she hardly had to _act_ to dismiss the ancient Lord Perrot, who had tried to _purchase_ her after the war). She eventually made her way towards one of the figures that she actually looked forward to talking with.

“Oh, as you understand,” Narcissa Black spoke eloquently, in conversation with the Lady Perks (a minor, neutral House), “the Ministry is officially neutral in these matters. So long as the proposed legislation does not inordinately impact anyone by the status of their bloodline, then it is not one of our concerns.”

“It could be argued,” Pansy began, her diction precise, _proper_ , “that the legislation of reference _does_ place additional requirements on those of Noble bloodlines. I find myself surprised that the Lord Greengrass would be willing to make our private matters an issue of a _public_ vote, as proposed in the ‘Duty of Propriety’ section.”

“Heir Parkinson,” Narcissa greeted her, smiling, “it is a pleasure to see you! Yes, the point you raise has certainly been a topic of discussion. It is the understanding of the Ministry that this provision is intended to prevent the exploitation of young Noblemen or women, however, the language could be argued to be… imprecise.”

“Truly, you are a woman of many talents,” a new voice spoke behind Pansy.

_Fuck._

“Not only a success story in your business, but now becoming involved in politics? House Parkinson’s traditions _are_ in good hands,” drawled Lady Adrienne Zabini.

Blaise’s mother _terrified_ Pansy. For all that she had modeled herself as someone darkly alluring, _dangerous_ but also desirable, Pansy knew that she was but a pale imitation when compared to the Lady Zabini, the “black widow”.

“Lady Zabini,” if Narcissa was intimidated, it was not noticeable, “a pleasure. I am not familiar with your guest, mister…?”

The eager-looking young man in Adrienne’s company made as if he was going to extend his arm in introduction, before her grasp tightened around his arm, freezing him in place.

“Oh, Antony here is of a minor Noble House in Italy,” the Lady Zabini explained, “one which you likely wouldn’t be familiar with. I suppose I am not as lucky as to attend alongside someone as auspicious as you are, Narcissa.”

“Yes, well,” once more, Narcissa was unshakeable, “the Department of Pureblood and Muggleborn relations requested my attendance tonight, so I am rather grateful for the invitation. Besides, it would seem that my Lord Black,” she gestured elegantly in Harry’s direction, “has the matters of our House well in hand.”

“Ah, quite true,” the smile on Adrienne’s face was frightening, “the young Lord Potter-Black _does_ cut quite the imposing figure. A shame that I have no daughter, or I’d likely offer a contract to him. Have your parents attempted such yet, Heiress Parkinson?”

 _Fuck off,_ Pansy thought, as she formulated her response.

“Oh, if my parents have considered such, I’m unaware of it. It has been said that Lord Potter-Black is resistant to offers of marriage, anyways.”

“A shame,” the Lady Zabini smirked, “to remain a bachelor, with _his_ status? Why, I suppose he must be waiting for a truly _exceptional_ match, so I would understand the Lord Parkinson’s hesitance. Come, Antony,” she pulled on the arm of her too-young-for-her date, “I feel myself desiring refreshments.”

The Lady Perks, who had been silent in this conversation, made a nervous gesture of goodbye and scurried off somewhere. _Pureblood conventions definitely aren’t for the faint of heart,_ Pansy agreed internally, wondering how she had _ever_ thought that the Black Widow was the sort of woman that _she_ wanted to become.

“Well, she’s as terrible as ever,” Narcissa spoke lowly, so that only Pansy could hear.

“I’d say,” Pansy rolled her eyes, “but she’s not _wrong_ , either. You did land _quite_ the date.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I have no idea what you mean,” Narcissa smiled gently, “and I must disagree with you, the Lady Zabini is actually entirely incorrect. You would _certainly_ be ‘exceptional’ enough for the Lord Potter-Black, or _any_ of the single Lords in attendance.”

“It’s good to see you,” Pansy gave a genuine smile, “you’re doing well?”

“Never better,” Narcissa’s smile was similarly real, “though trying to keep our people from destroying our own society simply to spite Harry Potter is worse than trying to herd kneazles.”

“I couldn’t imagine.”

“Yes, you can,” Narcissa smirked, “I had worried, you know, when you were young. It seemed as if you were trying to be another _me_ , a bright young woman burying herself in a marriage that had been decided for her. You’ve done so well, just look at you now.”

“We both have,” Pansy felt a rare moment of vulnerability, recalling times from her childhood when she’d been _ordered_ to make herself ”properly submissive” to Draco, despite the fact that neither of them had wanted such, “it would seem that marrying a Malfoy man is something that doesn’t suit either of us. Not that Draco’s so bad, mind you. I’m still friends with him, after all.”

“I’m glad to hear,” Narcissa laid a hand on Pansy’s wrist, “your generation has already done so much _better_ than mine did, it actually gives me hope for the future.”

“Unless Lord Greengrass locks us into place for another fifty years,” Pansy muttered, too quietly for anyone to overhear.

“Yes, well,” Narcissa looked at Pansy with a gaze that seemed far too _aware,_ “I imagine that those working against him are more capable than he realizes. One word of advice?” her voice, in turn, was nearly whisper-quiet, “if you _did_ happen to be conspiring with the Lord Potter-Black, you’re being a bit _too_ obvious about avoiding him. You and he are both single young Nobles, it would be expected that you flirt a little bit, at least.”

“I’m quite sure I have no idea what you mean,” Pansy lied, feeling a hint of a blush at the back of her neck. Though she wasn’t sure if Narcissa _knew_ about her relationship with Harry and Daphne, it wasn’t unlikely that she’d picked up on _something_ out of the ordinary: it had not been _Lucius_ who was the true mastermind behind the Malfoy’s success.

“Of course,” Narcissa smiled once more, her voice returning to normal levels, “it has been good seeing you, Heiress Parkinson. I look forwards to discussing my next commission from you in more detail at a later date.”

“Good evening, Miss Black,” Pansy bid her goodbye, “I, too, look forwards to the next time we meet.”

 _Good fucking thing that you’re on our side,_ Pansy thought as she wandered towards one of the bars that had been set up in the Bones ballroom, _I don’t think we’d stand a chance if you were working with Cyrus._

As she ordered a martini – _Buckthorne’s Genuine, of course_ – Pansy cursed her luck when she spotted the Lady Zabini, now missing her “companion”, strolling in her direction.

“Your gown is quite striking,” Adrienne spoke, “is that one of your designs?”

“It is,” Pansy replied, “though this is one from my private collection.”

“Ah, yes, your commissioned work is _rather_ impressive. The Delacour witch has certainly made herself noticeable, of late, and wearing your line in doing so.”

“She’s one of my best customers,” Pansy took her drink from the bartender, forcing her hand to remain steady, “are you interested in making a commission of your own?”

“Perhaps I am,” the Lady Zabini sidled closer to Pansy, _too close for comfort_ , “it’s a shame, after all, that there’s an available _Delacour_ woman going around London, and yet Blaise refuses to be seen with _her_.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Pansy muttered.

“Oh, Pansy,” Adrienne’s voice was low, dangerous, “you can drop the act. I’ve _met_ the boy.”

_Really, Blaise?_

“Ah,” Pansy nervously sipped her martini, “and?”

“I don’t begrudge my son his dalliances, of course, but to be so _serious_ about one is disappointing. He knows that it is his responsibility to continue the line at some point, but this little rebellion of his is forcing my hand. I don’t care for the way that I’ll have to use _laws_ to make him behave properly.”

“You think,” Pansy picked her words carefully, “that Blaise will care about _legal obligations_?”

“You’re not stupid, and neither am I,” their whispered conversation paused momentarily, when Adrienne cheerfully greeted Lord Montague, Pansy wincing internally to see the young Lord’s obvious interest in the Black Widow before they continued to stroll past, “Blaise will care about _power._ I plan to abdicate my seat, leave him as the Lord Zabini, and enjoy myself rather than being obligated to attend _ghastly_ excuses for parties such as this one.”

“I’m not sure if he’ll be convinced to take a wife,” Pansy whispered, “nor do I think that the Wizengamot will be convinced of his intent, when they’d have to _vote_ on any marriage he might arrange.”

“I _know_ my son is gay, Pansy,” Adrienne seemed entirely unimpressed, “but he needs to find himself some young woman who’s more interested in status than in ‘falling in love’ or anything so foolish, get her to pop out a child or two, and _then_ he can occupy himself with whoever he pleases. I had hoped that you might even fill that role, for a time, but I cannot fault you for setting your sights on even higher targets.”

“I…” Pansy became aware of how thoroughly out of her depth she was, deciding to resort to her usual tactic of shocking bluntness, “what do you _want_ , Adrienne?”

“I want you to speak to my son,” she hissed, “and to convince him to stop wasting his time with the Delacour boy.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t _care_ about this little plot of Cyrus’s,” Adrienne’s voice was laced with pure venom, “if it helps to bring my son in line? Good. If Blaise behaves himself without the need of a _law_ behind it? All the better. If you assist in this matter, I’d happily work to prevent it from coming to pass, which would affect _your_ designs.”

_Fuck, she’s too good at this._

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll do all that is in my power to _ensure_ that this proposal becomes reality, and to _guarantee_ that you become a broodmare for some pitiful Lord.”

_You’re a monster._

“Why even go this far?” Pansy hissed, nervous gooseflesh rising at the back of her neck.

“Because,” Adrienne smiled coolly at a passing Lady, as Pansy’s heart hammered in her ears, “I am _disappointed_ in my son. His paramour is a pretty, cheerful, _stupid_ little thing, fit enough as a bed-warmer, but thoroughly insufficient as a member of House Zabini, whether officially recognized or not.”

Pansy couldn’t help but let a nervous laugh escape her lips, which she disguised as a polite titter.

“You find this amusing?” Adrienne’s voice was now _lethal_.

“I think you _may_ have misunderstood slightly,” Pansy cautiously, carefully tried to explain, “you think Michel is ‘stupid’? Why?”

“It’s not difficult to take the measure of men like him,” there was a dangerous gleam in the Lady Zabini’s eyes, “I’ve certainly amused myself with enough. He’s a little dandy, pleasing to look at, but worthless.”

“I am… somewhat acquainted with the Delacours, at large,” she finished her martini, the burn in her throat sufficient to take her mind _slightly_ off the danger of this conversation, “and their traditions, granted, can easily seem _superficial_ in our own culture. But Michel is not seen as a _bauble_ in their family,” she tried to find the correct words, “more like… an ornate _dagger_. Jeweled, eye-catching, yes, but _sharp_ nonetheless.”

Lady Adrienne Zabini, for the first time in ( _surely_ ) years, seemed at a loss for how to reply.

“I find this hard to believe. I tested him, poked at his pride, at his family, and he merely treated it as a joke, grinning and giggling like a schoolgirl.”

“Michel is…” _fuck it, sorry Blaise,_ “he’s seen as someone _just like Blaise_ in France. They may be somewhat more _accepting_ than we are, but his _preferences_ are still seen as a weakness, something to target. He’s happy to serve as a lightning rod, only to _dismantle_ enemies of the Delacours when their insults go too far, when he taunts someone into giving him a reason to seek redress.”

“Hmm,” the Black Widow seemed to be – if not _surprised_ – at least somewhat off-balance, “I suppose that I _may_ have lived in Britain too long, that the traditions of the French escaped my notice.”

“The Delacours,” Pansy recalled a _dozen_ times when Fleur had basically toyed with her, manipulating her reactions not out of any base cruelty, but simply for her own amusement, “are not like the Weasleys, despite their _quantity_. They consider _Slytherins_ to be easily-manipulated and unsubtle, let alone those less capable.”

“That _is_ intriguing. Well, Heiress Parkinson, this has been most illuminating,” Adrienne dismissed her casually, as her boy-toy of the evening reappeared, “if nothing else, you have inspired me to think further on such matters. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Pansy replied, letting a tense sigh escape her lips as Adrienne finally left her alone.

_Fuck, I need another drink._

* * *

Daphne

Harry’s entrance had been _spectacular_ enough that not even the subsequent ( _spectacularly pretentious_ ) arrival of her father had managed to chase the sight from her thoughts. _Merlin, Harry_ , she thought, a smile dancing across her face as she watched him idly chat with the Weasleys, their son-in-law Draco nearby, _you look like… a bloody King, let alone a “Lord”._

While a part of her wished that Harry had at least run his idea past her, she simply couldn’t find it in herself to _care_ that he wasn’t sending the precise message they’d planned out, this was _so much better_. Showing up wearing a full suit of dragonhide armour may not have been “approachable”, but it was damn well _authoritative_ , his sheer _presence_ serving like a hub which the gathered guests circled around.

_“Man-Who-Won”, indeed. You look like you’re ready to go to war again, Harry._

She’d also spotted Pansy circling around the outskirts of the crowd, fulfilling her own role quite nicely, Daphne taking note of her girlfriend’s conversation with Narcissa Black, who remained an important figure in their society despite her ex-husband’s considerable fall from grace.

_Which leaves my role…_

“Good evening, Lord Bulstrode,” Daphne greeted one of her “targets” for the evening, a burly, mutton-chopped man whose features leant themselves well to glowering. Her ex-girlfriend’s father.

“Good evening, Miss Greengrass,” Merrick Bulstrode answered, gruffly, “it’s good to see you.”

The Bulstrode family was something of a contradiction. Their typical stance was something vaguely on the “traditionalist” side of politics, and yet they had steadfastly refused to publicly support the Dark Lord in either of his attempts to take over Magical Britain. The exception, unfortunately, being their daughter: Millicent Bulstrode had been even _more_ contradictory in nature.

 _It was hard for her,_ Daphne recalled, a bittersweet note in her memory, _to be gay, mixed-blood, and to keep those secrets from her Pureblood-extremist friends. “My father ruined one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families,” she had said once, tearfully, “and I’m the result.”_

“Your family is well, I hope?” Daphne asked.

“As much as can be expected,” Merrick sighed, “I won’t bother to return the question.”

“I appreciate it,” Daphne smiled, masking the twinge of frustration she felt, “I understand my father has been quite busy, anyways.”

“Always busy with something,” the older man replied, “this latest effort of his is certainly _impressive_ , I suppose.”

“You are in favour?” Daphne knew that Merrick was not a subtle man, from the few times she’d met him at various events in her youth.

“Haven’t decided,” there was a brief look of something almost _haunted_ in his eyes, “it’d solve some of my problems, create others.”

“I find it curious,” Daphne let a bit of “ice queen” slip out, “how half of the bill seems almost progressive, in a way, and the other half _rather_ traditional.”

“Well, that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” he grumbled, “hard to decide which of our traditions are worth carrying, and which just lead to more bloody foolishness. Millicent’s in favour, she keeps pressing me on that front.”

“Oh,” Daphne was surprise to hear this, “I don’t… I am not in contact with her, these days.”

“Yeah,” Merrick shrugged, the gesture looking _ominous_ with his large frame, “it hasn’t been easy. Not to dredge any of that up, you don’t want to hear it, anyways.”

“Some of our generation does seem to struggle with the changes in our society,” Daphne tried to be polite, “there is a lot to get used to, I suppose.”

“Some of you are bloody-minded and stubborn, you mean,” he scowled, “not that _my_ generation’s any better on that front. Walk with me?”

Daphne slowly nodded, falling in line beside Lord Bulstrode as he practically stomped through the ballroom, his apparently-grim mood serving to keep any others from engaging them in conversation.

“She actually _wants_ a marriage contract,” he explained, “figures it’d be a way of ‘repairing her reputation’, or something like that. Bloody short-sighted, but what do you expect?”

“I…” Daphne wasn’t sure how to reply, “I can see how that might appeal to her.”

“Leaving the door open for divorce,” Merrick waved a meaty hand in a dismissive gesture, “only makes sense, in that case. I can’t see how it would make her happy, but maybe in another twenty, thirty years, things would change.”

“I find myself more concerned with obligations,” Daphne admitted, “placed on people _less_ interested in pursuing such contracts.”

“Aye,” a forlorn look crossed his face, “but there’s always going to be a price to pay. Might have to take the good with the bad. Drink?”

“Certainly.”

The older Lord trundled to a bar nearby, where on the other side, Daphne was displeased to spot Pansy ensnared in Lady Zabini’s web. _Bit off more than you could chew, Pans,_ she thought, nervously. She kept any obvious reaction from her face, instead smiling politely when Merrick Bulstrode returned with a pair of beverages; a glass of champagne for her, a full _flagon_ of firewhisky for himself.

“Lady Bones has good taste,” he muttered, swigging the drink, “now _she’s_ handling things better than most.”

“She’s quite formidable, indeed.”

“Good for you,” Merrick waved off Daphne’s attempt to correct his apparent perception, “no, no, I won’t pry. I honestly don’t give a fuck.”

His bluntness wasn’t quite _shocking,_ but it was certainly cruder than Daphne had expected. Though he was widely known for being straightforward, _this_ was more open than she had anticipated any of the “traditionalist” old guard to behave like.

“Good family, House Bones. Strong. Braver than most, too, which is more than I can say for _my_ house.”

“I’m sorry?”

“If anything, that was my biggest failure, I think,” Merrick sighed, sadly, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper, “sat out not one, but two wars. The first time, I was too young, just started a family, couldn’t find it in myself to take a stand. The second, I was too unsure, not even able to argue with my own bloody daughter.”

“I hardly think…” Daphne began, but the Lord Bulstrode was unstoppable.

“It makes me wonder. If I stand up now, against Cyrus and his allies, does that absolve my earlier neglect? Or does it merely give him time to strengthen his cause, to enrapture those of your generation like my _daughter_ who wield tradition like a cudgel, instead of a shield. What if his next tip of the hat towards your side is less generous?”

“Taking a path with one step forwards, one step backwards hardly seems a way to reach _any_ destination,” Daphne replied, coolly.

“Heh,” Merrick turned to her, his uncertainty obvious, “you always were clever, Miss Greengrass,” he tipped his drink in her direction, a gesture of cheers, “it’s good to know, if nothing else, that there’s some _organized_ opposition to his efforts. It’s more popular than you’d expect, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he gestured vaguely in Narcissa Black’s direction, who was once more in conversation with the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, “a lot of the neutral families see the possibility of divorce as a boon of sufficient quality that they could accept the other limitations, ones which might not affect _them_. Others, like me, can’t tell how much compromise is acceptable. Something to be aware of, if nothing else.”

_Well, that’s grim._

“I… thank you,” Daphne admitted, still surprised to see this much candor from the gruff Lord.

“I always thought you were a good egg, Miss Greengrass,” Merrick turned from her, “sometimes, I wish things had been different. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Daphne replied, confused.

 _Not what I expected,_ she thought, as she processed this conversation. Lord Bulstrode had been _far_ more forthcoming than she ever would have guessed, but the information he’d revealed was a confusing mixture of reasons to be optimistic, and reasons to worry.

 _I suppose that’s why I’m here,_ she mused, making her way towards the bar, her glass empty.

“Having fun, Daphne?” Susan asked, approaching the same bar.

“Oh, of course, Susan,” she replied, cheerfully, “it has been quite some time since I’ve attended an event like this!”

“This is nice enough, in a quaint way,” Pansy interjected, “other galas are somewhat more impressive, but Lady Bones has done well enough.”

“Much appreciated, Heiress Parkinson,” Susan drawled, “I’ll happily admit that the guest list could have used improvement, but such matters are out of my hands.”

“Quite right,” Pansy smirked, “the host _is_ traditionally on the guest list, after all.”

 _Careful, you two,_ Daphne thought. While the exchange of barbs between Pansy and Susan wasn’t unexpected even in _usual_ circumstances, the role that Pansy was playing added an extra layer of prickliness to her jibes, one which might go too far if she wasn’t at least a bit cautious.

“No need to worry, Heiress Parkinson,” Susan had a glimmer in her eyes, “I’m sure that your family will have the opportunity to play host at some point. I understand that business is good, no?”

“ _My_ business is doing quite well, thank you,” Pansy deflected, “and I would recommend you keep _your_ business _yours_.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that!” the glimmer in Susan’s eyes turned _sharp_ , “after all that pesky business with the Aurors and all, why, someone with less acumen than Lord Penrose might have taken that as a sign to abandon his enterprise.”

Daphne noticed that, uncharacteristically, Lord Burke had begun to approach the bar, trailed by his mysterious guest. _Don’t argue in front of other Lords, Merlin,_ she felt a twinge of concern.

“Well, I’m not particularly interested in businesses,” Daphne interrupted, “but fashion is certainly an intriguing topic! Your gown is lovely, _Pansy_ , is a similar model available for sale?”

“Oh, I agree with that!” Susan proclaimed, “all in black, classic Parkinson, really. Only need a mask to top it off, yeah?”

_Fuck._

“Greetings, Heiress Parkinson,” the thin voice of Humphrey Burke cut in, “I trust that you are not being… troubled?”

“Greetings, Lord Burke,” Pansy curtsied, the image of a proper Pureblood, “oh, not at all. The Lady Bones and I are old schoolmates, after all, we have always enjoyed a certain level of repartee.”

“Very good,” Burke eyed the trio of women suspiciously, “as I am _certain_ that the Lady Bones would comport herself in a manner befitting her role as hostess of tonight’s event. Miss Greengrass, I am pleasantly surprised to see you in attendance tonight.”

“Of course, Lord Burke,” Daphne answered, “I would not wish to miss the display of my artwork.”

“Ah, right,” Burke didn’t quite sneer, but he came close, “a suitable enough diversion for a young lady, I suppose, though not representative of your true talents, I suspect. Perhaps a future patron will commission less... _controversial_ pieces.”

“Controversial?” Susan cut in, and Daphne felt herself tense, “why, Lord Burke, I am uncertain what you mean by that.”

“I’d expect you would be,” Burke _did_ sneer now, “but it appears that matters of propriety and _taste_ are, sadly, less important these days.”

“Ah, such matters are subjective, are they not?” Susan grinned, a dangerous look on her face, “I’d imagine that some might find it odd that you’ve brought this strapping young man as your date, and not your Lady wife, my Lord.”

“Hold your tongue,” Burke snapped, “ _some_ might take offense to such implications.”

Daphne glanced about the room, desperately hoping that someone would take notice of this brewing conflict, to step in and prevent it from becoming anything more. Instead, she caught sight of her father across the room, staring intently at Lord Burke and Susan. Lord Greengrass then gestured to the Lords Selwyn and Yaxley, who, after her father spoke to them, turned to approach the bar, their own oddly-out-of-place guests in tow.

_Fuck, Harry, I’m hoping you’re catching this._

“If _someone_ took offense,” Susan shrugged, “then _someone_ should say what they mean, so that any _misunderstandings_ could be addressed.”

“Subtlety _is_ a rather unappreciated virtue,” Burke’s eyes narrowed, “especially for someone who was not raised in our culture, I suppose. It must be especially challenging for a _half-blood._ ”

_Now would be a great time to swoop in, Harry…_

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Pansy – _thank fucking Merlin, Pans –_ interrupted, gesturing towards Lord Burke’s guest, “I am Heiress Pansy Parkinson, and you are…?”

“Leonhardt von Krafft,” the man replied, his voice _thickly_ accented. _Curious, that is… Bavarian nobility? German?_ Daphne tried to recall, not able to place his name.

“Ah, von Krafft, a noble family, indeed,” Susan interjected, “shame about the ‘supporting Grindelwald’ business, though.”

“An insult to my guest,” Burke snarled, interrupting whatever this Leonhardt man was about to say, “is an insult to _me_. Mind yourself, Bones, lest I take this as an _offense_.”

“Lest _what_ , precisely, Burke?” Susan was not intimidated, not in the slightest.

“This,” Burke’s voice was shaky, though whether with nerves or rage, Daphne couldn’t tell, “is an insult which could result in _duelling._ ”

“Take care, Bones,” Lord Yaxley – short, stout, and ugly – added, “women like you have few friends here.”

“Lord Burke is an honourable and respected man,” Lord Selwyn – tall, thin, and moustached – continued, “I will not tolerate him being disrespected in this manner.”

“Ah,” Susan reached behind herself, retrieving a bottle of firewhisky from her own bar and taking a swig, “is that so?”

“You hardly conduct yourself as a Lady,” Burke sniffed, “which makes a _queer_ sort of sense, as if you fancy yourself a man.”

 _Fucking arsehole,_ Daphne couldn’t help but glare at him, his insult not even disguised by Pureblood standards.

“Now that,” Susan, meanwhile, seemed unbothered, somehow, “is what I call an ‘insult’! Lord Humphrey Burke!” she bellowed, “I challenge you to a duel!”

A quiet hush fell over the crowd with Susan’s proclamation, and Daphne saw Harry – finally – approaching from the other side of the hall, a grim expression on his face.

“I accept!” Burke cried, eagerly, “name your terms!”

“The defeated party will issue a public statement,” Susan grinned, “apologizing for their _conduct_.”

“A public apology,” Burke spat, “and ten thousand galleons, issued to the victor.”

 _Fuck, that’s a lot._ Daphne knew that the Burke family was _rich_ , but such a sum – in concert with the costs to host this gala – might well bankrupt Susan.

“Accepted!” Susan cried gleefully, her eyes ablaze, “do you want one of your little friends here to serve as the arbiter, or do you figure you’ve got what it takes _without_ cheating?”

“You impugn my honour!” Lord Selwyn cried, “I challenge you to a duel!”

“How dare you accuse me of betraying our customs!” Lord Yaxley added, “I challenge you to a duel!”

“Hah!” Susan bared her teeth in a wild grin, “I accept both! Name your terms!”

“Ten thousand galleons,” both men spoke in concert, as Daphne realized that this was _engineered_.

“I accept!” Susan couldn’t possibly afford this sum, and winning three duels in succession was a feat beyond all but the _greatest_ duellists.

 _Father, I swear to magic itself, I_ will _bring you down one day,_ she thought, bitterly.

“What _is_ all this?” a fourth voice interjected. The man who spoke – who Daphne immediately recognized as Lord Artaxes Carrow – was tall, broad, and _commanding_ in presence. _If he’s part of their conspiracy,_ Daphne realized, _we’re in trouble._

“Oh, the usual,” Susan casually set the bottle of firewhisky down, rolling her shoulders, “some fools saw fit to challenge me.”

Lord Carrow looked from Susan to the six men (counting each of the Lords’ guests) gathered around her, and Daphne was, if nothing else, glad to see a look of exasperation cross his face for the briefest moment.

“Very well,” Lord Carrow rumbled, “I offer to serve as arbiter for these challenges, should all parties accept.”

They did so, just as Harry arrived.

“An insult to Lady Bones,” Harry growled, and Daphne saw Lord Burke visibly _flinch_ , “is something I take _very_ seriously, my Lords. We are guests in her manor.”

“Already accepted, Harry,” Susan cheerfully spoke, “no need to trouble yourself yet.”

“I am _well_ aware we are present in Bones Manor,” Burke hissed, “thus, I invoke the Right of Second!”

Daphne glanced to Harry, who shrugged, then back to the tense confrontation around her.

“Mm,” Lord Carrow seemed unimpressed, but not _bothered_ in any way, “given that you are a guest who has been issued a challenge, such a claim is valid. Name your second.”

“ _Herr_ Leonhardt von Krafft,” Burke had an unctuous grin on his face, “will you stand for me in this duel?”

“I accept,” the mysterious guest of Lord Burke’s answered, as Daphne realized a piece falling into place.

_You’ve paired three weak Lords with three strong duelists, haven’t you, father?_

“Herr Krafft,” Burke sneered, entirely too proud with himself, “is the reigning champion of the Bavarian Wizard’s Mensur Association. Good _luck_ , Lady Bones. I rather suspect you’ll need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no :^)
> 
> I'm looking forward to hearing reactions to this chapter, and theories about what else might be going on here if you have any! The next chapter will contain a little bit of a _twist_ , depending on the _perspective_ you take!


	10. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first duel of the evening begins!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter is almost entirely made up of magical combat, a few injuries are described in non-explicit detail, so anyone sensitive to these depictions might want to be careful with this chapter!

* * *

Susan

The familiar rush of apparition brought her to her bedroom, where she hurried to divest herself of her jewelry, to slip out of her gown. As good as she knew she looked in it, she’d rather have more freedom of movement when it came time to duel in a few short moments.

Susan slipped out of the ornate bra she was wearing ( _too bad, really_ ), replacing it with a plain sports bra and buttoning a shirt overtop of it. As she pulled a pair of trousers over her hips, she reached for her wand, casting a quick series of charms to undo her elaborate braid, then quickly weave her hair into a _practical_ plait, one which would keep her hair out of her eyes while also not being too easily grabbed by an opponent.

 _Shame, innit?_ Susan mused, taking a quick glance in a mirror, _I_ did _look good tonight._ In a final gesture, she updated her makeup, replacing greens and silvers with black. _The red can stay_.

As quickly as she had disapparated, she made her return to the crowd gathered in _her_ ballroom, the weight of the duels she’d just accepted still hanging over the audience as she reappeared with a characteristic _crack_.

“My Lords and Ladies!” Susan announced, a tingling feeling of nervous excitement beginning to work its way through her chest, “the Bones duelling arena is in the basement, if you’d kindly follow me.”

As she led her _guests_ down a curving flight of stairs, Susan took stock of what she knew about her opponents: _First, this von Krafft bloke. Champion of the BWM is no easy thing, not that old Humphrey was really being subtle about why he’d bring him as a guest._ She was eager to test herself against her first opponent. _Second, Archibald Yaxley, Heir to his House. If he’s anything like his dad, he’s a blunt object, but he might hit hard enough to be worth noticing. Finally, Geoffrey Selwyn. I think he’s Garland’s nephew, or a second cousin?_ She didn’t know much about this final opponent, but if he wasn’t already notorious, that likely meant he wasn’t worth worrying over.

The crowd split itself into the small gallery surrounding the duelling arena, predictably, along vague lines of allegiance. The older, more traditional Lords shuffled off to the right of the entrance, while younger or more progressive sorts followed in Harry’s wake, off to the left. _Don’t go_ too _far, Harry,_ she smirked, as she confidently strode into the bounds of the arena.

“The first challenge to duel this evening has been issued by the Lady Susan Bones,” Artaxes proclaimed, “and has been accepted by Herr Leonhardt von Krafft, standing as Second for Lord Humphrey Burke.”

_Yeah, yeah, get on with it._

“By the requirements of the _Duelling Restrictions act of 1932,_ the following limitations shall hold true: spellcraft must be limited to non-lethal casting, only the recognized parties shall participate in the duel, and should the arbiter – myself, Lord Artaxes Carrow – see cause to halt the duel, both parties shall cease their actions immediately. Is this accepted?”

“It is,” her opponent, Krafft, murmured, as he took his spot across the arena from her.

“Yeah,” Susan agreed.

“Very well. Do the duellists have any further statements to issue?”

“Lady Bones,” the man across the arena spoke, his voice deep and thickly-accented, “are you familiar with rules of the _Zaubererverbindung Duellistenliga_?”

Susan racked her memory. Her aunt had _certainly_ educated her on various forms of duelling practiced both in Magical Britain and the rest of Europe, and she thought that this lengthy string of syllables sounded somewhat familiar. _Good enough, at any rate._

“I think so,” she agreed, “third blood, yeah?”

 _Whereas Wizard’s Duels in Magical Britain tend to be fought until one participant is either disarmed or incapacitated, “first blood” having fallen out of favour long ago, the way that duels are practiced in Germany and surroundings is somewhat more… bloodthirsty in comparison._ The memory was clear in her thoughts, helping her prepare for the requirements of this sort of duel.

“Just so,” von Krafft agreed, “I find myself used to those rules, _ja?_ If you would oblige me, to duel under that command, I offer a _streitgeld_ of five thousand Galleons, separate from my own victory.”

 _Well, that’s unexpected._ Her measure of the von Krafft fellow rose a degree: this offer would mean that his own share of Burke’s wagered sum would go to her whether she won or lost, in exchange for fighting under a set of rules which suited her _quite_ well anyways.

_Fuck the Galleons, I want to see Humphrey making an official apology._

“I accept this offer,” she happily announced, eager to finish with the ritual build-up and just _get to it_.

“Very well,” Artaxes rolled his eyes, “let it be known that both duellists have agreed to combat under the standard of _Duellistenliga_ rules! This duel shall, henceforth, be a contest of strength between the two combatants, one which shall continue until one has drawn blood thrice-fold from the other!”

Across the arena, von Krafft began to unbutton his shirt, as Susan recalled ( _right, yeah)_ the particular requirements of these rules. She similarly divested herself of her own top, leaving her standing in her sports bra and trousers, both duellists applying quick No-Scrapes charms to themselves in order to ensure that any blood drawn was _earned_.

Her opponent was tall, blonde-haired and square-jawed, rather muscular in a way that Susan supposed many women would find appealing. _Not really my type,_ she thought, though the few thin scars across parts of von Krafft’s torso _did_ draw her eye. Such scars were a mark of pride in the Bavarian tradition, the _schmiss_ a trophy which had been eagerly adopted from their Muggle brethren, as much as the dick-headed traditionalists of Bavaria might claim otherwise.

 _Got enough scars to show he’s been in fights,_ she guessed, _but few enough to show that he usually_ wins _those fights._

A grin broke across her face as Artaxes began the ceremonial count to begin her duel.

_Good, let’s see what you’ve got._

He didn’t disappoint.

Susan quickly brought a shield to bear with an unspoken command of _protego_ , just in time to absorb what seemed to be a high-powered stinging hex from her opponent. His gestures were short, snappy, and he wasn’t wasting time announcing his attacks, all of which served more as proof of his duelling pedigree rather than coming as a surprise to Susan.

_Let’s see how you handle a real fight, big boy._

She sent a trio of quick attacks towards von Krafft as she dodged to the side, running towards her opponent. As expected, her opponent parried all three, though when she cried “ _Reducto!_ ” while aiming at his left knee, he had to in turn cry “ _Skilt!”_ , absorbing her attack with a shimmering, coppery-coloured shield charm.

His counter-attack was wordless and barely gestured, and Susan had to duck to the side as it rippled through the air, yelling “ _Expelliarmus”_ in return.

 _Oh, you_ are _good,_ she was excited to see that von Krafft merely took the disarming charm, pointing with his now-empty hand and bellowing something like “ _Snid”_ in her direction. Susan twisted to the side but wasn’t able to dodge the entirety of the spell, feeling a sharp burn as it grazed her shoulder.

“First blood by Herr Kraft,” Artaxes announced.

Susan was glad that she could test herself against this opponent, watching as he snatched his wand out of the air, noting that he relied on his reflexes rather than charms or summoning to counter her disarming charm.

 _“Terradtremo!”_ she yelled, as she paired the spell with a powerful stomp, sending a shockwave rippling through the floor of the arena. _Protego,_ she thought, deflecting a counter-attack, as she flicked her wand through a familiar sequence: _“Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!”_

It was apparent that von Krafft was not used to _battle_ in the same way that she was, regaining his balance rather than moving to a new position, the flurry of attacks she aimed at him landing true while he was unsteady. Neither was he _unskilled_ , she could admit, as he parried one of the severing charms and ducked beneath the second.

The third landed in his shoulder, immediately drawing a line of blood across the site of impact.

“First blood by Lady Bones.”

To his credit, von Krafft seemed to realize her tactic as quickly as she began to implement it; he took a measured step backwards as she circled around to his weak side, throwing a cutting jinx of some sort in front of her to force her to halt her forward momentum.

 _Many trained duellists are used to standing in place and trading spells,_ Susan recalled a lesson from her aunt Amelia, _leaving gaps in their defenses which can be exploited._

“ _Swertring!”_ von Krafft bellowed, his wand dancing through a quick series of slashing gestures, producing an attack which – apparently – sent a circle of force flying around him.

 _Pretty good way of dealing with a mobile opponent,_ Susan judged, as she slashed her own wand down to parry the blow, _might have to learn that one!_

“ _Diffindo!_ ” she repeated, the attack sparking off of von Krafft’s shield charm, as she picked up her pace, sprinting towards his off-side, where he’d have to reach across his own body to counter her magic. To his credit, von Krafft tracked her, turning to follow her motion as he sent a counter-attack ( _too slow!)_ through the space behind her, but the fact remained that she had put him on the defensive, his counters hurried and ineffective, while her own continued peppering of severing charms wore at his shields.

Susan’s heart thudded in her chest, her blood _sang_ in her ears, as she felt completely in her element. _Never forget,_ her aunt’s words came to mind once more, _to be a Bones is to be a **warrior**. Doesn’t matter if you’re half-blood, pure-blood, I don’t care about all that. What I _do _care about is making sure you’re tough enough to handle what needs handling._

Certainly, von Krafft was skilled, even powerful, but he was _nowhere_ close to Amelia Bones, under whose strong hand Susan had learned how to _fight_.

“ ** _Scutum Obscillo_** , _”_ she _roared_ , the powerful shield-breaking charm one of the many memories her aunt had left behind. _“Diffindo_ ,” she thought, her hand flicking through the motions while the word remained unsaid.

Susan smirked as her first spell tore through von Krafft’s shield charm, while the second snuck through the gap before he could reconstruct his defenses. A line of blood below his ribs on his left side marked her triumph.

“Second blood by Lady Bones.”

“You are skilled, my Lady,” her opponent spoke, as she dodged past one attack, shielded a second, “who has trained you?”

 _Mum, dad, aunt Amelia, my family,_ she thought, _Flitwick, McGonagall, Potter,_ some of the greatest living magicians, _Vincent Crabbe, Alecto Carrow, **Macnair** , _enemies who had forced her to be strong or else to perish.

“Picked up a thing or two,” she answered, parrying a flurry of spells, “fought a war, yeah?”

Though she’d never be able to match the complex charms that Hermione could weave in an instant, nor Ron’s arsenal of various curses and charms, let alone Neville’s sheer _power_ he possessed, Susan’s opinion was that she had acquitted herself _quite_ well as a member of Dumbledore’s Army. She’d repaid Walden Macnair the headsman’s due, taking _his_ head at the gates of Hogwarts.

_Compared to that? This is nothing._

Susan battered through one of von Krafft’s jinxes, ducked under another, all the while casting severing charms in a steady rhythm, dodging behind her opponent as he was distracted by blocking one head-level attack.

_Got you now!_

Her wand outstretched, Susan began to speak the final charm which would end this duel, already planning for how she’d defeat her next two challengers. _He’s not bad, but if this was their heavy-hitter, the other two will be easy_.

Her triumph was brought short by the _crack_ of bone on bone, von Krafft’s empty hand chopping down on the inside of her wrist, her wand clattering uselessly to the floor below.

“ _Sehr gut,_ Lady Bones!” von Krafft now bore a grin of his own, “I know a ‘thing or two’ as well!”

 _Right, yeah,_ Susan remembered, _the Bavarians aren’t so namby-pamby about “Muggle duels” as the lot we have here are._ This, of course, meant that being in close quarters with a man _much_ larger than herself was probably not the _best_ scenario for her.

“ ** _BOMBARDA!”_** Susan screamed, her fingers slashing through the air to point at the floor between herself and von Krafft. She’d put enough force behind the incantation to compensate for her disarmament, the explosion sending both her opponent and herself flying, though she rolled to her feet in a practiced motion.

“ _Accio Wand!”_ she spoke, the object in question flying through a cloud of smoke to _thud_ into her hand.

 _Eight and three-quarters inches, ebony, Phoenix-feather core,_ she recalled, _a warrior’s wand._

It had been her aunt’s, before Voldemort himself had ended her life. Even today, some people tried to use this as a strange sort of reassurance, as if it were an _honour_ of some kind, that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord had _personally_ tried to exterminate her family.

_Yeah, brilliant, Harry and I can form a club for that, invite Neville and Luna, why not?_

“Hold!” Artaxes’s voice cut through the slight ringing in her ears, just as she drew a bead on von Krafft, who had lurched into vision, his own wand drawn and pointed at her.

_Fuck, it was just getting good._

Sighing, she returned her hand to a neutral position, as the duel’s arbiter spoke to Humphrey Burke, who was gesticulating wildly, his face red and furious.

“Before this continues,” her opponent’s voice was unexpected, “I wanted to say, you were correct.”

“Yeah?” Susan couldn’t remember what she was right about, but she _usually_ was.

“The way my family associated with Grindelwald and his like,” von Krafft’s voice was low enough that she was likely the only one who could hear it, “it is our greatest shame. I hope that one day, we will be seen as warriors once again, much like House Bones.”

“Glad to hear,” Susan grinned at him, “but it’s still two cuts to one, yeah?”

“ _Ja_ ,” von Krafft inclined his head in return, “and I would not dishonour you with any less than my full effort.”

“Good!”

_Bring it, Krafft._

“Lord Burke,” Artaxes’s next announcement was only _barely_ short of disdainful, “has issued a challenge, on the grounds that Lady Bones’s last spellcast was in violation of the ‘non-lethal’ requirements of this duel. This challenge is overruled, as the spell was not targeted at her opponent. Duellists! The duel shall resume on my mark!”

Susan delighted in the tension building in the air as she waited for this mark to be issued, her heart pounding, feeling power and magic coil and tighten through her body.

“ **Resume!** ”

Her offense was immediate, overwhelming, dozens of verbal and non-verbal severing charms spitting from her wand as she charged towards her opponent. Krafft was more than capable of meeting her onslaught, his shields glittering and sparking as they met her spells, his own counter-attacks sending sprays of light against her defenses.

 _Our styles aren’t dissimilar,_ she thought: _both of us are fast casters, favouring power and speed over complexity, but skilled enough to survive past the counters the offensive approach is vulnerable to._

 _I’ve still got the edge,_ her wild smile returned to her face, _it’s two to one, so I can take risks he can’t._

Objectively, Susan figured that her and Krafft were fairly well matched in terms of raw power, her edge in offensive spellcasting matched by his proficiency with shields. _We can beat against each other for a while,_ she knew, which was a definite mark in favour of her opponent, _but it’s time to end this._

From his earlier display, she assumed that he was trained to some degree in so-called “Muggle duelling”, or basic martial arts; her own training in such matters was very far from comprehensive, but it was sufficient to inform her as to what would be _expected_ of a fight between her and Krafft.

He was bigger and stronger than her, and had at least enough training to nullify any advantage which her own skills might have provided in that regard. Common sense would say that taking their duel to a hand-to-hand contest should be avoided at all costs.

_Of course, that means he won’t be prepared for it._

One of the lessons that she’d learned from Harry early on was that the instant one’s enemies started thinking “they wouldn’t possibly be so foolish as to do _that_ ”, doing precisely “that” often became the _best_ route possible.

She took more inspiration from her once-hero, now-friend than he was aware of, relying on his philosophy that, once the situation had become one that _neither_ she nor her opponent had prepared for, _“guts, quick wit, and thinking on your feet wins out more often than not”_.

Dodging past a cutting jinx, Susan drew deep on her magical reserves and yelled what she hoped was her second-last incantation.

“ _Constito Incantatem!”_ she cried, a relative of counter-spells, one which would prevent her opponent as _well_ as herself from casting spells for a few heartbeats, which was all she needed.

Susan closed the gap, bringing her knee into Krafft’s diaphragm, buckling the man in half with the unexpected intensity of her assault. Before he could recover, she started to grapple with his right arm, locking his elbow against her body to gain leverage.

More flexibly than she’d expected, Krafft twisted to bring his elbow smashing into her face, sending an electric shock of pain through her nose, which was undoubtedly broken.

“Second blood by Herr Kraft.”

 _I am Lady Bones,_ her thoughts roared with her aunt’s voice, _fighting within Bones Manor. I will not be defeated._

_Gonna have to hit harder than that to put me down, mate._

She twisted his arm even as she spat blood to the side, pushing Krafft towards the ground, while she felt magic returning to the area around her. When his palm slapped against her thigh, the cold shock of pain which immediately radiated from the site was a clear tell of a wandless, wordless bone-breaker jinx, though its effect was at least muted enough to be merely “incredibly painful” rather than “crippling”.

 _Doesn’t count as a point,_ she grunted, locking Krafft’s wrist in her hands, forcing his wand to drop from his fingers, _and you aren’t enough to beat me._ She bolstered herself with nonverbal magic, pushing the pain in her leg aside as she released Krafft from her grip, stepping backwards in a quick, practiced motion.

 _Burke, Selwyn, Yaxley,_ she thought, her heart thrumming in her chest, _fucking **Greengrass,** doesn’t matter, I’ll take the lot of you. _

As she’d seen earlier, Krafft relied on his reflexes rather than his magic, lunging for his wand with his left hand as soon as it fell from his right. He had not, however, been expecting Susan to release him from the hold she’d had, unbalancing the large man, sending him sprawling as his wand clattered to the floor.

He was on his feet in an instant, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Susan tasted blood as her grin showed teeth, her heart hammering, the magic of _House Bones_ humming throughout her body. Her wand was already drawn on Krafft, and _his_ was out of reach.

When he realized what this meant, a small, wry smile broke across his own features, as von Krafft subtly inclined his face towards her, presenting one of his cheeks to her next spell.

_Right, yeah, the whole “schmiss” thing._

“ _Diffindo_ ,” she spoke, obliging her opponent, cutting his cheek open just below his eye.

“Lady Susan Bones has won this duel!” Artaxes announced, as Susan felt the adrenaline surging through her body practically _screaming_ , to say nothing of the ache in her right leg that she just remembered.

“I will wear this scar with honour,” Krafft spoke, softly, as he rose from the floor, “you are even _greater_ than your reputation, Lady Bones.”

 _Fuck yeah,_ Susan thought, her head swimming, _don’t fuck with me._ She looked back into the crowd behind her, where the expressions she could make out were a solid mix of ‘horrified’, ‘impressed’, and ‘concerned’.

_Hmm. Why’s Daph one of the ones lookin’ concerned?_

Her “date” for the evening – though Susan would certainly _enjoy_ it if this were an actual status rather than a presumed one – was looking down at the duelling arena with a tight expression, worry visible in her big, _pretty, blue_ , _did I say pretty?_ eyes even from the distance between them.

 _Right, I guess I must look a fright,_ she realized, _practically got my tits out, broken nose, covered in blood and all._

_Fuck it._

Susan was dimly aware that Artaxes had been speaking in the background, but started paying attention again just in time to catch his next proclamation: “The second challenge to duel this evening has been issued by Lord Garland Selwyn, accepted by Lady Susan Bones. By the Right of Second, Mister Geoffrey Selwyn shall stand in place of Lord Selwyn.”

_Fuck you, Selwyn._

If it were any other time, Susan figured that she’d be able to dispose of the younger member of House Selwyn fairly easily, but as the adrenaline left her body, Susan became uncomfortably aware of the pain in her leg ( _not broken, but not exactly ideal, yeah?_ ), her exhaustion (magical and otherwise) trembling through her.

 _It was a good trick,_ she admitted, _try and bait me into a duel, then swap out for more-talented Seconds, with a couple in reserve because your hired wand wasn’t enough to take me down by himself._

 _Fucking Pureblood gits only ever have_ one _good trick,_ Susan practically _snarled_ as she let her own blood flow over her teeth, recalling her aunt’s words, _and they never seem to remember that people can respond to their tricks._

“As the challenged party, I lay claim to the Right of Second!” Susan announced, gritting her teeth to force herself to stay upright, instead of collapsing on her bad leg.

“ **I will stand for Lady Bones** ,” a familiar voice, though one that _rumbled,_ enhanced by magic, spoke from behind her.

Susan’s grin only grew wider, trying her best to commit the shocked looks on the faces of Lords Selwyn and Yaxley (to say nothing of their seconds) to memory, as _Harry fuckin’ Potter_ walked onto the arena floor, clad in dragonscale, his lean yet sinewy arm coming to wrap behind her back as her leg finally gave out, supporting her weight so effortlessly that it appeared as if she’d never faltered at all.

For a moment, Susan had the impulse to _kiss_ her friend, who had stepped forward just when she needed it (and not a moment sooner).

 _Fuck, I guess I’ve probably got a concussion,_ she put that _impulse_ aside for now, taking the opportunity to slump into a seat in the gallery, eager to watch _Harry’s_ turn in the arena begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)
> 
> This chapter is the twist I mentioned in the notes for last chapter - the first POV in this series that _isn't_ one of the trio! 
> 
> I'd love to hear reactions to both this "twist" and the chapter in general! General commentary, questions, feedback, etc. are all welcome, as always!
> 
> Next up will be a return to the conventional viewpoints, as Harry handles the remaining duels of the night!


	11. Gala - Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the Winter Solstice Gala come to an end, with Harry fighting a particularly notable duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly all magical duels, but there's no explicit violence, and there /are/ bits of plot developments and foreshadowing scattered throughout :P

Pansy

_Oh no,_ she thought, _Bones is actually kind of hot._

Not that Pansy would have shown any visible enthusiasm anyways, but she was _particularly_ aware of the importance of restraining her reaction, seated in the midst of a bunch of stodgy old traditionalists as she was.

The redhead’s performance in her duel had been impressive, trading spells and physical blows with a fury that Pansy realized she couldn’t hope to match herself. While she’d never precisely considered herself a _brawler_ of any sort, Pansy had usually been fairly confident in her ability to handle a magical conflict, and she now began to realize that she’d been sorely mistaken.

_Fuck, I’m going to have to get Harry to teach me how to duel._

It was a complicated feeling for her, walking around in the Pureblood world once again, even if she was doing it with a new perspective. She’d been more than happy to leave it behind when she’d first been sort-of-exiled from magical society, but now, witnessing this display of _sorcery_ , she felt as if she should acknowledge how lucky she was to be able to perform actual, literal _magic_.

_I’ve already been bugging him to take me flying sometime, might as well add “also I want to learn how to fight” to the list…_

While she didn’t exactly want to imitate the look Bones was currently sporting in its _full_ measure, the way that she’d swaggered off the stage, her makeup all in red and black, blood literally _pouring_ down her face was just _impressive_ to Pansy. It gave her all _kinds_ of inspiration for different designs: gowns swathed in chain-mail, iron jewelry, blood-like highlights in makeup, a general “ _warrior queen_ ” aesthetic.

Of the various outcomes she’d tried to anticipate for this night, being impressed with Susan Bones’s _presence_ hadn’t been one of them, but, hell, Pansy was nothing if not _adaptable_. Nor, from what she could overhear, was her impression a unique one:

 _“If nothing else, she’s strong,_ ” Pansy heard someone mutter behind her, _“that counts for something on its own.”_

 _“Now THAT is how a witch should be,”_ another, more exuberant voice – she thought perhaps it was Lord Bulstrode – added, _“fights her own battles, doesn’t she?”_

Naturally, not all of the comments she overheard were supportive:

“ _Rather primitive display, no?”_ was paired with a dismissive laugh.

 _“Hardly ladylike in the slightest,”_ a female voice complained, “ _though I suppose that is to be expected, given, well, the rumors and all…”_

Still, from what little she could judge based on idle gossip, Pansy felt that the result was a positive one. She was hardly expecting that the traditions of Pureblood culture could be overturned by a single ( _impressive, granted_ ) duel, but it couldn’t hurt the reformist cause for Bones to have so emphatically affirmed her reputation as someone to be taken _seriously_.

As Artaxes Carrow began to rattle through the standard refrains preceding a duel, Pansy leaned forward in her seat. While Bones may have already had a reputation to rely on, Harry had yet to cultivate such a status, but she was _certain_ that his own duel would go a long way towards doing so.

She couldn’t wait.

* * *

Daphne

Daphne wandered down to the front seats in the gallery, seeking out her “date” for the evening. While it may not have been considered “proper etiquette” by the most rigid conventions, it would look even more strange if she didn’t go to the woman whose guest she was, too transparent about the carefully-designed role she was playing tonight.

Plus, she _was_ slightly concerned. While whatever else may or may not come to pass between the two of them in the uncertain future was one matter, the fact was that she _did_ count Susan as a friend, and her friend had walked off the arena floor covered in her own blood.

It was almost frightening, seeing a duel like that. While she’d certainly witnessed enough duels between her father and different compatriots of his in her own youth, those had been polite, almost friendly affairs, held simply as a diversion rather than out of any actual intent to _fight_ each other.

 _Not like my time in “combat” was much to speak of,_ she knew, her participation in the Second Wizarding War having been limited to stunning a Death Eater when his back was turned to her, hardly the sort of vicious exchange of spells that Susan had just accomplished.

“Hey,” she spoke quietly, reaching Susan’s side, “you alright?”

“Hey,” Susan turned to her, her eyes looking a bit unfocused, blood still drying on her face, “you’re _really_ pretty.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Daphne blushed despite the strange timing of the compliment, “… _are_ you alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” Susan grumbled, reaching up to her face, “gimme a sec.”

There was a _crunch_ as Susan pulled on her nose, making Daphne wince. If the redhead was affected by the pain of re-setting her own broken nose, she didn’t show it, merely pointing her wand at her own face, muttering “ _Episkey_ ” softly, followed by a cleaning charm.

“Got my bell rung a bit,” Susan admitted, cheerfully, “should be right as rain now.”

“That was… well, that was _something else._ I didn’t know you were so _strong_.”

Susan barked a laugh, her characteristic bravado returning as her head cleared.

“Thanks, Daph, but I’m not actually all _that_ impressive. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good scrap, but there’s ‘prolly a dozen or so people here tonight who could have dueled von Krafft.”

 _I am well and truly out of my element,_ Daphne goggled, _he’s the champion of a duelling league, and Susan considers him a ‘good scrap’?_

“Do you…” she picked her words carefully, remembering that she would be overheard, “do you think Lord Potter-Black will be as successful?”

Susan’s chuckle was low in her throat this time, and the way that she leaned back in her seat, comfortably stretching to recline with her arms behind her head ( _okay, the way it looked when she’s wearing just a bra plays a factor too_ ) sent a shiver down Daphne’s spine, simply from how Susan looked so confident and unworried.

“If you want to talk about ‘impressive’,” Susan smirked, and the fire in her eyes _definitely_ multiplied the shivers Daphne felt, “then ‘Lord Potter-Black’ should be at the top of your list.”

Lord Carrow began to announce the terms of this second duel, and Daphne felt goosebumps rising at the back of her neck.

“Harry’s going to fuckin’ _destroy_ them,” Susan grinned.

* * *

Harry

_Sue fought well,_ Harry was proud of his friend, _von Krafft wasn’t an easy opponent. If these two are anywhere near his level, I’m going to have to be smart about this._

Still, as he stood on the arena floor, while Artaxes Carrow prattled on about the different duelling regulations that he’d _already_ gone over, Harry felt like he was of two minds as to how he wanted to approach his _own_ duel.

On the one hand, he was _furious._ He hadn’t missed the ploy that these Lords had tried to enact, nor the fact that they’d waited until he was at the furthest end of the ballroom from Susan to start going after her. _They hurt a friend of mine,_ he stewed, _and if it wasn’t for Sue’s quick thinking, I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it._

_Maybe I’ll hurt one of yours, see how you like it._

On the other, he felt the usual trepidation familiar to him when his thoughts turned dark like this. He’d trained with Alastor Moody (both the real one _and_ a convincingly-paranoid impostor), and the idea that he was being baited into anger was one that he couldn’t just dismiss off-hand.

 _I’ve_ seen _Wizards who ruled through power alone._

This fear of his served as a reminder not to _over-react,_ as despite his own anger with these stupid, bloody Purebloods, he still had a role to play tonight, and _how_ he duelled might well wind up being more important than simply winning the match.

 _Right, take it seriously, don’t go charging in half-cocked,_ he reminded himself, _constant vigilance and all that._

“Lord Potter-Black!” Carrow’s voice shook him from his inner thoughts, “as the Second of Lady Susan Bones, you have the right to stand as her champion in duel. Of the challenges issued by Lord Abraham Yaxley and Lord Garland Selwyn, represented by their Seconds, Heir Archibald Yaxley and Mister Geoffrey Selwyn, which will you face?”

He looked across the arena at the relevant men, both of whom wore scowls on their faces, neither familiar to him. Both wore traditional dress robes, but had the sense (at least) to discard their heavy, billowing cloaks, so they likely had _some_ idea of what they were doing.

They didn’t exactly look _confident,_ but neither did they look intimidated; the one on the left ( _think that’s the Yaxley_ ) even met Harry’s eyes across the floor, sneering as he did so.

_Fuck it._

“I will face both!” Harry proclaimed, "at once!" _Not letting these dickheads get another shot at Sue._

“Hmm,” Carrow managed to sound imperious while making a noise of contemplation, somehow, “this is unconventional, but not without precedent. You are aware, by the Earl of Harrington rules, that you will have to disable or disarm both of your opponents concurrently in order to attain victory, correct?"

“Sure,” Harry answered, “I’m aware.”

“And you understand that you represent not yourself, but stand for Lady Bones?”

“I endorse this!” Susan called from the background. _Thanks, Sue, you’re brilliant._

“Very well. Finally, I am obliged to inform you that a contest of two against one is not considered… sporting,” Carrow just _kept talking_.

“They can bring more,” Harry answered, snapping the reply before he really thought it through.

“Pardon?”

_Once again, fuck it._

“You’re right,” Harry looked across the field, past the two men who were muttering plans to each other, to the Lords that they stood for, “two against one doesn’t really seem fair. Let’s make it four.”

This _finally_ seemed to leave Carrow at a loss for words.

“Lord Yaxley!” Harry cried, “Lord Selwyn! You may stand alongside your Seconds!”

All Harry could do was grin at the shocked murmurs running through the crowd, as he rolled his shoulders, settling himself into an easy duellist’s stance. _After all,_ he thought, _the point of a Second is to stand_ with _someone, yeah?_

His challenge would be impossible to turn down by either the codes of duelling _or_ the expectations of Pureblood society without marking these men as the cowards they were; since he’d already agreed to duel while outnumbered, to decline would be tantamount to admitting that they _weren’t_ prepared to duel over the “insults” they’d received.

The two older men glanced about nervously, clearly not anticipating that Harry would have a _basic_ understanding of duelling code. They inevitably reached the same conclusion that he already had, begrudgingly and slowly making their way onto the floor to stand with their Seconds.

Raising his wand before him, Harry inclined his head the slightest degree that he could, refusing to bow to these sorts. He was met by pretentious half-nods, receiving no more respect than he’d given.

_Good._

“The duel will begin on my mark!”

Harry felt a thrill burning in his chest, his heart beginning to race in excitement.

“Begin!”

He took a step forward. Harry watched as the two Seconds began to cast spells, their wand-work elaborate and over-gesticulated. One sent a telegraphed stunner flying towards Harry, but his haste sent it off-course, passing harmlessly over his shoulder. The other, more precise, aimed his stunner on-target, but Harry had already prepared to wordlessly cast _Finite_ from his off-hand, the spell sputtering away before it could reach him.

Behind the two younger men, Selwyn senior ( _hmm, let’s call you “Old Selwyn”_ , Harry thought) had produced an impediment jinx, but true to Pansy’s measure of the man, the spell was underpowered. Harry took another step towards them, letting the jinx bounce harmlessly off his dragonhide breastplate.

The elder Yaxley – _Old Yaxley_ – meanwhile, had erected a shield charm around his allies, similarly meeting Harry’s expectation that he wasn’t a _bright_ man. _Group shields limit your movement too much,_ Harry knew, _better to rely on your own spell-work unless you’re a charms master._

_Well, if that’s your opening salvo, it’s my turn._

“ ** _EXP-_** “ Harry bellowed, letting the power of an unspoken _Sonorous_ bolster his voice. Just as he thought, he saw the group of men clutch their wands, Young Selwyn actually beginning a retrieval charm before the _Expelliarmus_ that he so clearly anticipated was even cast. _Watch this,_ he thought, as vague memories of his girlfriends came to mind. “- ** _ECTO PATRONUM_** ,” Harry finished.

His plan to shock his opponents into making a misstep worked better than he could have expected, as instead of a silver stag erupting from his wand, an enormous silver _dragon_ took wing towards the men, roaring in – harmless – fury as it did so.

 _Huh. That’s new._ He’d ponder the implications of his Patronus changing later. _Maybe it’s because I’m wearing dragonhide?_

“ _Discutio!”_ he yelled, taking advantage of the distracted men looking up in surprise, casting an Auror-designed charm meant to counter shields. Old Yaxley’s protective charm shattered into pieces with an audible _crack_ , and the four men instinctively closed ranks, unprepared for this outcome.

Harry let a cutting curse glance off his midsection, countering another stunner with a gestured thought of _Finite_. His two younger foes weren’t _bad_ spell-casters, at least, but the way that the four had clustered together when their shield fell was the _exactly wrong_ way to react.

“ _Incarcero Ferrum!”_ Harry bellowed, and thick iron chains appeared from thin air, twisting and winding around the group, Young Yaxley’s attempt at a counter-spell simply _plink_ ed off Harry’s more powerful spell, Young Selwyn’s cutting jinx failing to slice through the chains as it may have done against mere ropes.

Harry had witnessed some of the greatest magicians of their generation in combat, and - though he hated to give a shred of credit to the monster - had even crossed wands with one on multiple occasions. He knew that his own spellwork was nowhere near as intricate as Dumbledore’s (to say nothing of Filius Flitwick), and he wasn’t the sheer force of nature that _Tom, the Noseless Wonder_ had been, but even at his most self-deprecating Harry would admit that he was easily _stronger_ than most.

His opponents hadn’t been able to handle the power he brought to bear, as he ignored their spells and broke their defenses, and now they were seconds from defeat for it. 

_That was… pretty easy._

“I issue an objection!” Old Selwyn dashed Harry’s hopes quite expertly.

“Hold!” Carrow ordered, and Harry sighed as he flicked his wand to dismiss his spell, strolling back to his starting place.

“This is a clear violation,” Old Selwyn wheezed, “of the Enchanted Objects and Accessories regulations! His armour is not fair!”

 _Whining about things not being “fair”, that’s a new one,_ Harry rolled his eyes.

“Incorrect,” Carrow had an impressive command over the regulations, Harry had to admit, “as Lord Potter-Black is a recognized member of the British Wizarding Order of St. George, he is entitled to wear dragon-skin won by his own hand. The duel shall resume on my mark…”

“Wait,” Harry said, holding up a hand.

 _You think I’m winning because of my_ armour?

He set about touching the various enchanted clasps, ties, and belts attaching the various plates of dragonhide together, divesting himself of the armour in mere seconds. _Handy, that_ , he smirked. With a touch, he banished the armour back to its stand in 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry now stood in a long-sleeve t-shirt and a pair of “fitness trousers” that Pansy had made for him. While his dragonhide fit him like a second skin, he had noticed that the phrase tended to be _uncomfortably_ literal when he wore it against his bare skin, heating his blood in a way that he didn’t really care for. The clothes he’d worn underneath were barely even “casual” by the most accepting Muggle standards, _hardly “appropriate apparel” for a Wizarding gala,_ he chuckled to himself, _but let’s see you complain now._

Feeling inspired (and no small part frustrated with this interruption), he pulled the shirt from his torso as well, leaving himself standing shirtless, almost as if in imitation of Susan and von Krafft’s duel. He heard murmurs from the crowd, and a few positively _scandalized_ gasps, but simply tossed the shirt aside, rolling his shoulders as he got used to being free of his armour’s weight.

 _I guess I_ am _a bit more vulnerable now,_ he supposed, _but I’ll be faster too._

“Does this please my Lord?” Harry called out, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his tone, “am I sufficiently un-armoured?”

“This is acceptable,” Old Selwyn stammered, and Harry cracked a vicious grin at the nerves in his voice.

“Very well. As stated, the duel shall resume on my mark.”

 _It seems like you didn’t like fighting against power that much,_ Harry thought, _let’s see how you handle_ speed _._

“Resume!”

* * *

Pansy

_Okay, what the fuck?_

Logically, Pansy knew that Harry was a powerful Wizard. _Rationally_ , she knew that her boyfriend had already achieved heights of sorcery that few would ever attain in their lives, and he’d accomplished many of those feats as a child, let alone the grown man he was now.

All of her logical knowledge paled in the face of the _display_ she was witnessing.

It was almost hard to believe that the same man who got awkward and fidgeted whenever she put him on the spot was now _dismantling_ not one, nor two, but _four_ opponents at the same time. Harry shrugged off jinxes as if they weren’t even there, batting stunners out of the air like he was lazily swatting at flies.

He summoned a fucking _dragon_ as a Patronus.

Pansy’s thoughts whirled at an impossible pace, as she tried her best to simply comprehend the _power_ he was wielding so casually. In moments, he’d already torn through their shields, all-but-ignored their spells cast against him, and he was mere _seconds_ from victory, his opponents bound in iron chains.

 _Fucking typical,_ she thought, when Lord Selwyn made his desperate plea.

Harry’s response, though…

She had hoped he’d just ignore the complaint, showing his disdain and dismissal of these Lords and dispatching them out of hand. This would have sent a message that Pansy supported, that such concerns were simply _beneath_ Lord fucking Potter-Black, cementing his status as a powerful, dignified Wizard. In the traditions of the Pureblood world, this kind of gesture would have spoken volumes.

Instead, he exceeded her own expectations in a way she never could have predicted. He stripped himself of his armour without complaint, then _stripped_ himself, showing his scars, all his memorial tattoos, and – perhaps most impressively for _her_ – his magical tattoo of a dragon, prowling around his torso, spitting flames of black ink over his skin.

In the span of moments, he’d transformed himself from a frighteningly powerful Noble Lord into a _war hero_ , there was no way that anyone in the crowd could possibly forget that _this_ was the Man-Who-Won. The message would – she hoped – be clear: the man who had once been the greatest champion of the war against the Dark Lord was taking the field of battle once more, and any of those Lords and Ladies who found themselves “undecided” should fucking well take notice of _whom_ they might find themselves standing against.

It was all she could do to stop herself from throwing her head back in laughter.

* * *

Susan

_And **that**_ **,** _Lords and Ladies, is what happens when you fuck with Harry Potter._

Susan laughed as she watched Harry not only remove his dragonhide armour, but when he also took the _literal_ shirt off his back, the best possible way she could imagine for him to show his utter lack of fear for any of the four who stood against him.

Harry wasn’t exactly a _large,_ _muscular_ man (which she'd never really seen the appeal in), but Susan had to admit, the way that his corded muscles stood out from his lean frame when he stalked back towards the Lords and their Seconds with fire in his eyes, and an ink dragon running rampant around his torso, well…

 _Alright, Harry, you’re_ really _not too bad-looking, for a bloke and all._

As she recalled how she’d almost _kissed_ him while in a daze, with her mouth full of blood at the time, she descended into outright _cackling_ over her own impulsivity.

_Nah, he's got two girlfriends for two Houses already, c'mon Sue, get it together._

Besides, something much more _immediate_ about Harry had captured her attention.

She could not _wait_ to see him continue _absolutely fucking wrecking_ their enemies.

* * *

Daphne

_Wait… what? You…?_

Daphne was an educated witch, with in-depth knowledge of many aspects of the Magical world, and it was her belief that everything she had learned as a child, at Hogwarts, and after graduation would have prepared her for what she had just seen.

It had been _thoroughly_ insufficient.

One of the _facts_ she understood was that, as a rule, having a magical creature as a Patronus was extremely rare. Dumbledore was known to summon a Phoenix, while occasional figures through history might pop up here and there with a Unicorn, or a Fire Salamander, or something of that caliber.

Another thing that she thought she’d understood was that it was _very_ rare for someone’s Patronus to change, most frequently as a result of marriage, when the magic of the married couple wound up blending together. Occasionally, a "rebirth" of a mystical nature could have these results, but those were _vanishingly_ rare.

Finally, it had been well-established that Harry Potter had been capable of manifesting a corporeal Patronus in their fourth year; a silver stag.

So, when an enormous _dragon_ burst from the tip of his wand – _a Hungarian Horntail, at that_ – Daphne was, quite simply, at a loss for words.

She’d barely even managed to follow the rest of the duel - where Harry exerted _power_ beyond the hope of his opponents to match - she was so enthralled by the possibilities of what this could mean.

 _It was rumoured that Merlin had three different Patronuses he used…_ she wondered, _and one of them may have been a dragon?_

Other than that, she could not recall _any_ mention in various histories of a Witch or Wizard whose innermost self, their most fundamental nature, would be represented by the _single most powerful_ magical creature in the world.

Pansy and her had joked around about Harry being a strong wizard on plenty of occasions, and they’d both understood that their boyfriend was a _hero_ in the literal definition of the word, but Daphne had simply never before grasped the _magnitude_ of what this meant.

She stared across the arena floor, seeking out her father in his side of the crowd. When she spotted him, she was pleased to see that he looked more shocked than she must have, his hands practically _crushing_ the arms of his seat with how tightly he gripped them.

When Lord Selwyn attempted to claim that the duel was unfair, she watched Cyrus Greengrass’s frown deepen, as he’d undoubtedly already realized that his agents were _doomed_ against Harry. When Harry literally began to _strip_ himself in the middle of the arena, so _casually_ disdainful of his enemies, she was tempted to join Susan in an outburst of laughter.

_You have no idea the sort of man you’ve made an enemy of, father._

* * *

Harry

“Begin!”

As soon as Carrow uttered the word, Harry sprang into action. He chanted “ _Stupefy_ ” as quickly as he could, flicking his wand through the bare minimum of the gestures in his right hand, bringing an unspoken _Protego_ charm into existence with his left hand, as he sprinted at an angle towards his opponents.

 _"There’re basically three types of combatants,"_ Harry recalled a lecture of Robards’s he’d attended (in disguise, of course) which covered the basics of magical combat for a new crop of prospective Aurors, " _broadly defined as offensive, defensive, and utility specialists. Conventional wisdom states that an overwhelming offense defeats someone who relies on utility, that defense stifles offense, and that utility bypasses defense."_

_"Conventional wisdom is incorrect, for a number of reasons."_

First, and most obviously to anyone who’d actually _experienced_ a fight, there was a significant difference in fighting against someone who sat back and hurled spells from a distance, compared to one who used mobility as a weapon of its own.

It became clear to Harry in short order that his opponents in this duel had _not_ yet learned this lesson, and he was more than happy to instruct them on this matter.

He’d managed to hit Young Yaxley with one of his opening barrage of stunners, the shield charm that Old Yaxley had cast ( _once again_ ) proving to be thoroughly insufficient, as Harry changed his angle of attack, requiring Young Selwyn to cast a shield charm of his own to defend their group as Old Selwyn busied himself trying to _rennervate_ his fallen compatriot.

 _According to “conventional wisdom”, you’ve got two offensive specialists, one defensive, and one utility,_ he thought, _but even by_ that _outdated measure you’re failing. You’ve got one of your best attack-charm spellcasters busy maintaining a shield, your shield specialist didn’t block my attacks, and the weakest link you’ve got in support isn’t anywhere near fast enough to be effective._

In an instant, Harry had all but crippled their ability to cast spells against him, proving once more to himself that Robards’s assertions were on the mark. While the defensive charms that his foes had cast _might_ have been sufficient to weather his spellcasts head-on, the simplest action of _moving_ was enough that he could bypass them entirely.

 _You might actually have a shot at this,_ he could have rolled his eyes, _if Old Selwyn tried to do_ anything _to throw me off my own strategy. Young Yaxley’s fast enough and has shite aim, so he should be on shield charm duty, and if Old Yaxley’s got_ any _brains at all, he’d realize that he needs to chip in by trying to attack me instead of making useless shields over and over._

Harry ducked to the side as a yet another stunner whizzed by his head, grumbling to himself as he did so. _Wish I’d stepped in for the first duel,_ he thought, _von Krafft actually seemed pretty competent, and I figure Sue could’ve taken your Seconds if I’d have dealt with him first._

The fact that Harry was beginning to find himself _bored_ while in a duel against multiple opponents spoke volumes. He idly fired a stunner close to Young Selwyn’s head, the man panicking and redoubling his shield charm as he realized the gap in his defenses well after Harry had already spotted it.

With their (apparently) more-talented Seconds either stunned or dedicated to shielding themselves, Harry merely watched as Old Yaxley stumbled his way through the gestures of _“Locomotor Mortis”,_ the less-than-brilliant Wizard’s spellcasting giving Harry more than enough time to raise his own shield charm before the leg-locker curse landed.

_Still, you’re the first one to have an actual good idea so far, and you’re supposed to be the biggest git of the lot._

He was reminded that he was still (technically) _fighting_ when Young Yaxley rejoined the duel after being rennervated, casting an _Incarcerous_ curse which was ( _surprisingly!_ ) aimed accurately enough that Harry had to slash his wand down to knock it aside.

 _That’s the problem with relying on stunners,_ he remembered Moody (the real one) explaining, _if you don’t got overwhelming numbers, the element of surprise, or – best of all – both on your side, all you do is whittle away at the edges while the ones in the middle keep waking their little friends back up._

While Harry couldn’t exactly employ Moody’s more… _permanent_ solutions to this problem, neither did he intend to rely solely on stunning charms to win this duel.

In the back of their group, Old Selwyn had begun to cast a more complicated spell of some sort, one that Harry didn’t recognize. While Young Selwyn hadn’t exactly been _fast_ in reacting to Harry’s opening salvo, he was proving to be frustratingly perceptive (at least after Harry had kindly demonstrated the flaw in his defensive charms), tracking Harry to keep his shield charm in between his allies and Harry’s stunning charms.

_You’re still standing stationary, you utter gits._

Harry cried “ _Stupefy_ ” once more, casting a charm which was _meant_ as a distraction but almost struck Old Yaxley, before aiming at himself and muttering _“Levicorpus”._ Jinxing _yourself_ wasn’t typically advised, but – recalling Moody’s words once again – the element of _surprise_ was often worth it.

His perspective whirled around as he was hauled into the air by his own ankles, where he quickly took aim at Old Selwyn, speaking “ _Impedimentia”_ calmly, interrupting the older Wizard’s ritual before he could complete it.

When Young Selwyn glanced over his shoulder to check on his ally, Harry quickly cast another shield-breaker charm, with a non-verbal stunner following immediately behind it, completing the sequence by casting the “ _Liberacorpus”_ counter-jinx on himself. Harry spun through the air, landing in a roll as gravity retook its hold on him.

A stunner from Young Yaxley came close to landing home, but Harry merely dodged to the side, sighing in frustration as he did so. _If you’re going to take a shot at me, do it while I’m hanging in mid-air, not when I’m on my feet._

Young Yaxley’s follow-up stunner flew wide without Harry even having to dodge.

_And learn how to fucking aim._

If Old Yaxley planned to contribute much of anything to this duel, Harry had yet to see any evidence of it.

_Alright, I’ll stop screwing around._

“ _Depulso_!” he cried, pointing at the recently-stunned Young Selwyn before the man could topple to the ground. Propelled by Harry’s banishing charm, Young Selwyn’s rigid form flew backwards, crashing into Old Yaxley on the way, leaving only Young Yaxley standing.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” the man yelled, and Harry thrust his left hand forwards, thinking _“Protego_ ” as he did. The stunning charm hit the shield charm in his palm, and fizzled away uselessly as Harry snapped his hand shut.

_I could win this right now._

Instead, he turned his wand backwards, on himself.

“ _Flipendo”,_ he thought, making sure to dampen the power behind his knock-back jinx so that instead of sending _himself_ flying clumsily through the air, it appeared as if he suddenly leapt a great distance backwards, opening a gap between Young Yaxley and himself.

He purposefully walked back to his starting position as, glancing suspiciously in his direction, Young Yaxley started going about rousing his allies, rennervating Young Selwyn in short order.

 _This_ is _inappropriate apparel, after all, I’ve got to look the part when I finish this._

Harry was actually _glad_ that he’d been nervous about attending the gala in full dragonhide armour, because he’d had the foresight to place a bunch of handy charms on a tuxedo - hanging in a closet at 12 Grimmauld Place at that moment – which he’d intended as a backup outfit in case his confidence failed him.

 _“Accius Potens, Clothes,”_ he thought as he snapped his fingers, casting a more powerful version of the reliable summoning charm he used so often, and the clothing _popped_ into existence around him, the charm dressing him as precisely as if he’d spent _hours_ fussing over his appearance.

_I should know, took me ages to get the bow tie right._

* * *

Pansy

_Who are you, and what have you done with Harry “err, uh, I don’t know” Potter???_

Pansy presumed that she must have been a good influence ( _“good” being relative, I suppose)_ on her boyfriend, because not only was he continuing to impress with his displays of prowess, but then he disengaged from his last standing opponent, only to snap his fingers and suddenly appear dressed in an _immaculate_ tuxedo, draped in a positively _perfect_ dress robe.

_Fucking Merlin, did you finally learn how to be fashionable?_

While Pansy certainly appreciated her boyfriend’s last choice in outfit ( _“shirtless and slinging powerful spells around” is a good look_ ), if _anything_ was going to send the right message to the gathered Lords and Ladies, it was this moment of pure _style_ he’d just – literally – pulled from thin air.

It was _almost_ enough to distract her from how utterly impressive his performance in duelling was. Of the many “of course Harry can do that” realizations she’d had as she got to know him over the previous months, she’d somehow managed to forget that on top of everything else, he’d been a _Quidditch star_ , and the demonstration of his speed and reflexes showed just how well those skills had transferred to more serious situations.

She could barely even track his spellcasting, let alone follow the way that he seemed to react to his opponents’ actions before they even started them. She sure fucking noticed, however, when he _caught_ a spell in his hand, extinguishing it like he was snuffing a candle. It became more and more evident to her every day was that Harry fucking Potter was, bar none, the most impressive man she’d ever met.

Her sense of vanity wouldn’t let her go without thinking “ _good, that’s just what I deserve_ ”, but she would happily admit that she was _indeed_ extraordinarily lucky to be dating not only Harry, but Daphne as well, and – more surprisingly – his obvious power and status didn’t even crack her top five reasons why she was so bloody _taken_ with the man (and woman).

His dominance in the duelling arena was not going unnoticed by the spectators, either. Where the conversations she’d overheard earlier - during and after Bones’s duel – had been a mixture of “impressed”, “disdainful”, or “ambivalent”, there were precisely _two_ topics that she could hear.

Muttered expressions of disbelief, and utterly shocked silence.

* * *

Harry

_“It’s funny, isn’t it?”_ Harry found himself recalling Robards’s theories on magical combat once again, “ _the more we learn now, the more it seems like the old ways really had the right of it.”_

The medieval concepts of “combat magic”, to be fair, were developed in an era when “combat” meant “open warfare”, but Harry had to admit that this old system held a certain sort of appeal to him.

_“The ancient Wizards figured that there weren’t three sorts of combatants, but five. The first ones they called ‘spears’, the sort who learned a few good charms and curses and stuck with them, relying on the idea that the best offense is, well, a good offense.”_

_Sue and Ron fight like that,_ Harry thought, _and it looks like Young Yaxley’s one of that sort as well, except nowhere near as competent._

_“The second type were called ‘shields’,” the direct counterparts. Specialists in defensive charms, hard to crack, but not particularly dangerous by themselves.”_

_That’d be Tonks, but of this lot, Old Yaxley’s their shield._

_“The third were ‘swords’, those more versatile, capable of offense and defense alike.”_

_Neville’s definitely a “sword” – fitting, that – but that seems to be Young Selwyn in this case._

_“Next, there were ‘arrows’, Wizards who were particularly focused on waiting for an opening for a singular, especially effective attack.”_

_Fuckin’ Seamus for sure, but if Old Selwyn’s fulfilling that role here, he’s doing a piss-poor job at it._

_“Finally, the ultimate type of combatant were dubbed ‘wands’; those Wizards who had mastered each of the other ‘weapons’, all-rounded fighters capable of handling any type of battle magic. In that day, a Wizard who had earned his ‘wand’ would enjoy a position of honour, and many of these individuals indeed went on to found Noble Houses through their battlefield prowess. It was believed that you needed a master of each of the other four styles working together simply to match a single ‘wand’ in battle.”_

_Hermione would be in that category,_ Harry knew, _and so would **I**._

He fussed at one of his cufflinks which had become somewhat askew, while taking note of the four men across the arena struggling to get their legs beneath them. They hadn’t been able to match him in power, nor had they stood up to his speed, so Harry was fully confident that, ultimately, he was about to take them apart with _skill_.

 _If you need all four styles to be at your best,_ he mused, _then you arseholes are out of luck._

As the last of his opponents – Old Selwyn – was finally back on his feet, the four men returned to duelling stances, aiming their wands towards Harry once more. In response, he began to calmly walk forwards, as he set about putting an end to this duel.

“ _Pyroprotego!”_ Harry yelled, summoning a swirling shield of flames in front of himself, absorbing the stunners that had been sent his way. His opponents appeared to have _finally_ formed an actual strategy, with Young Selwyn providing a shield charm, Young Yaxley close behind throwing stunners overtop. _Not a winning strategy, but it’s something._ As he approached, Harry noticed Old Selwyn attempting to begin his ritual again, while Old Yaxley apparently took a different bent, pointing his wand at the floor behind their group.

 _Too late, “Abe”,_ he thought, with a cruel sort of satisfaction. As splinters of wood began to peel loose of the arena floor, shaping themselves into something resembling a wicker-man, Harry simply muttered “ _Silencio”_ while aiming his wand at the gap between Young Selwyn’s shield charm and his ally behind him.

The elder Wizard’s attempt at transfiguration failed as his voice caught in his throat, the spell interrupted partway through.

“ _Strangulonimbus!”_ Old Selwyn shrieked, having completed his spell after his laborious efforts, and a cloud of vivid green gas flew towards Harry.

“ _Aerobibus Fumos,”_ he replied, the charm he’d developed (which now functioned mostly as his ash tray) serving to pull the cloud from the air, drawing the attack away from Harry before it could come close to harming him.

“ _Quattrorecrepo,_ ” Harry continued, casting a charm which summoned a four-sided prism in front of him, guiding it into place with his wand as another stunner from one of his enemies harmlessly ran into his fire-shield charm.

“ _Discutio,”_ he repeated the shield-breaker charm from earlier, demolishing Young Selwyn’s own spell.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ Harry cried, aiming at the prism in front of him. Where one beam of scarlet light struck the object, four emerged, each striking true on one of his opponents, their wands sailing into the air.

 _Accio Wands,_ he thought, casting the spell wordlessly and wandlessly, summoning the wands into his empty left hand before their owners could recover them. He felt four satisfying impacts in sequence, as he stood still, his hand stretched out before him.

“Lord Potter-Black has won this duel by means of disarmament!” Carrow announced.

A hush descended over the room following this announcement.

"Let it be known!" Harry yelled, his voice carrying through the dead-silent arena, "that Lord Potter-Black stands beside Lady Bones! Any who would make an enemy of her, makes an enemy of **me**."

Harry opened his hand to let the wands he'd grasped clatter to the floor beneath him.

* * *

Daphne

_That’s what you fucking deserve,_ she thought with a thrill, as she watched Harry _dismantle_ his opponents in one, final, absolutely conclusive sequence. _His closing statement could_ really _have used some work, though._

A glance across the arena saw her father looking positively _vacant_ , no more expression on his face than if he were a corpse. If he had any words of admonishment for his allies, they’d apparently have to wait, as Daphne saw Cyrus rise from his seat and storm off, his cloak flapping behind him as he went.

“Right!” Susan called out, rising from her own seat, “that’s all dealt with, then. My Lords, my Ladies, I am most grateful for your company this evening, but the Winter Solstice Gala has come to an end.”

There was a rumble of hushed conversation that rippled through the crowd.

“Show’s over,” Susan yelled, “go home!”

“That was…” Daphne spoke quietly, as the crowd began to make their way back upstairs, leaving Bones manor, “ _wow_. But...”

“Yeah,” Susan’s smile beamed brightly, “he kind of does these things, y’know?”

When Susan leaned in to take Daphne into a tight hug, she whispered in the redhead's ear.

"I don't think Harry realized what he just declared, and I don't want..." Daphne started.

"Ssh," Susan replied, "it'll be fine, we'll work it out so that it winds up in our favour."

"It's not the _worst_ thing we could suggest to the media, I suppose."

“Seriously, it's fine, don't worry! Have fun with the rest of the night,” Susan teased, “I can see that Pansy’s practically foaming at the mouth, and I’m sure you’re not holding up any better.”

“Oh?”

“Obviously,” Susan smirked, leaving Daphne with one final hushed comment before she turned to congratulate Harry on his ( _their?)_ victory, “the two of you are going to fuck that boy’s _brains_ out after watching all that.”

 _Well, she’s not wrong,_ Daphne felt a hot blush rising as Susan walked over to give Harry a significantly more “bone-crushing” hug of his own.

 _That was_ quite _the event._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that lives up to the tension of two cliffhangers ;^)
> 
> Some notes on the writing of these last four chapters:
> 
> * They were a bit of an experiment showing one long scene split up across multiple chapters that I think went pretty well! I think most of the time I'll probably stick to smaller slices of life, but I might return to this format for future major plot events
> 
> * This chapter in particular was a further experiment in showing multiple POVs of the same events happening - I also feel pretty good about this!
> 
> * Holy fuck did I ever make a mistake by making the Seconds part of the same family as the Lords they were representing. I think that the Young/Old scheme worked /okay/ as a means of getting around this problem, but I definitely won't repeat **that** again!
> 
> * I always wonder if I'm being too obvious, too subtle, or just right with certain sorts of foreshadowing, especially for "twists" like "Susan starts getting POVs now" (that said, she's not a _main_ character at this point, so the vast majority of POVs are going to continue to be from the trio). If anyone has noticed particularly good/bad/not-noticeable foreshadowing, I'd like to know!
> 
> * I'm pretty sure that this is the longest individual chapter I've written, and the last four as a whole are certainly the longest collective scene I've ever written in any work, fanfic or otherwise. This is more of a reaction from me than anything else, but I'm /really/ hoping that I didn't have any obvious editing errors sneak through as I've been putting this final "Gala" chapter together - I already caught one mistake where I referred to the same person getting stunned three times in a row :|
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! The enthusiasm I've seen for the last few chapters has definitely helped to inspire me to keep working on the next ones, which has led to the increased publication frequency for these last few! Comments, questions, reactions, and critiques are all welcome!


	12. Afterparty (Daphne/Harry/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Daphne, and Pansy celebrate Harry's victory
> 
> The next morning, they discuss plans for the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, fluff, and then plot :P

Harry

Sue practically crashed into him as she threw her arms around Harry, wrapping him in one of her signature tight hugs.

“You were brilliant, mate,” she cheered, “good show!”

“Heh, thanks,” he muttered a response, throwing one of his arms around her back in a quick return of the embrace, “I _did_ try and make a bit of a show out of it, yeah?”

“Fuck, did you ever,” Sue’s voice dropped to a murmur into his ear, “your closing speech was a bit of a surprise, never figured you’d be such a _romantic_.”

“I, er,” Harry was confused, “what?”

“Made a bit of declaration, didn’t you, _lover_?” Sue’s eyes were glittering with mirth.

“Uhh,” Harry tried to figure out what he’d said, exactly; the words had basically come to his mind and left his mouth in the same moment.

“Ssh,” Sue pressed her finger against Harry’s lips, and he tried to figure out what had led to _this_ kind of behaviour, “don’t worry, I’m just teasing you, love. Daph will explain, I’m sure, but you’ve gotta give her what _she_ needs first.”

He glanced over Susan’s shoulder at Daphne, who was standing there with an _intense_ look in her eyes, but he still hadn’t quite managed to piece together what Sue was getting at.

“Err,” he scratched at the back of his head, “okay? D’you need anything else from me, before I leave?”

“Hah!” Sue’s laugh was louder than even her usual boisterousness, while the rest of her response was muttered at a confidential level of volume, “nah, mate, I’m good, I’ve got a whole _trunk_ of toys upstairs, but your girlfriends are gonna want more than that, yeah?”

_Oh. Ohhh._

He finally put the innuendo together, and felt a blush rising in his ears, as images of _Susan_ came into his mind and were immediately chased away.

“Now get your arse home, Lord Potter-Black,” Sue announced loudly, chuckling, batting him in the shoulder playfully, “we’ll speak soon, I’m sure.”

“Right, uh, yeah,” he clumsily agreed, “night, Sue.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” she smirked.

 _Good thing I brought the bike,_ he mused, _gonna need to cool off a bit, yeah?_

* * *

The ride back to 12 Grimmauld Place _did_ help to clear his thoughts somewhat, as Harry ran through the events of the evening. He still hadn’t figured out whatever it was that was – apparently – important about the words he’d said after his duel, but it didn’t really seem as if it was something to _worry_ about.

Harry, being Harry, couldn’t help but run through the events of the duel itself, trying to figure out if he’d been _too_ easy on his opponents: he was pretty sure that he could have won the duel much more quickly than he actually had, and now he found himself wondering if he’d dragged things out for _too_ long, sent the wrong message in doing so.

“ _First, we bow,_ ” he remembered, and shook his head to dispel both those thoughts and the shudder that they caused. _Really wasn’t the same,_ he rationalized, _after all,_ they _started it, not me._

He parked the magical motorcycle which had once belonged to Sirius in the open spot in the courtyard behind 12 Grimmauld, and made his way inside, ruminating only slightly as he walked up the steps and opened the back door.

As soon as he closed the door and set foot inside, he heard the _crack_ of apparition, and an accompanying shock of surprise. _No, wards are still up,_ he felt for the magic he’d placed around his home, _that’s gotta be Daph or Pansy._

Sure enough, his brief worries were immediately cast aside when Daphne rounded the corner, wearing a robe, as he kicked his shoes off.

“You,” she spoke, her gaze just as intense as it had been at Sue’s manor, “bed, now.”

“Yeah, of course-“ he started to answer, interrupted when she closed the distance to him, wrapping her arms around him, and the world spun as she apparated the pair of them upstairs to his bedroom.

“Hi?” Harry chuckled, as he spotted Pansy sitting on his bed, wearing a robe of her own. If Daphne’s gaze was “intense”, Pansy’s was _fierce._

Daphne shoved him against the wall as Pansy stood from her seat, and he sucked in a breath as both of his girlfriends shrugged their robes off, revealing the matching sets of lingerie they were wearing; thigh-high stockings attached to garter belts, which in turn connected to lacy, strappy bustiers. The clothes – if they could even be called that, considering how much they _didn’t_ cover – were bright red, matching the lipsticks that each woman wore.

_Fucking hell, am I ever lucky._

Pansy, too, stepped forward, as both she and Daphne pressed into him, their lips brushing against either side of his neck as their hands began to roam up and down his torso.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Pansy whispered, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“You’re so strong, Harry,” Daphne continued, as she pulled his cummerbund off, “so _powerful_.”

He thought, for a moment, of protesting, but any words he was thinking were chased from his mind when Pansy nipped at the side of his neck at the same time as Daphne ran her tongue along the outside of his ear, replaced with a wordless groan from him instead.

“ _Feel_ ,” Pansy commanded, taking one of his hands in hers, pushing it between her legs. When he ran his finger along her naked sex, he could tell that she was _soaking_ wet. Daphne pulled his shirt off, flinging it aside, as his girlfriends took him by the arms, turning him around and pushing him onto the bed. Before he could even sit back up, Pansy had grabbed the waistband of his trousers, pulling them free of his legs.

“Let us _serve_ you,” Pansy whispered into his ear, her fingernails tracing down his chest.

“Our _Lord,_ ” Daphne practically moaned into his other ear, reaching down to grip his cock, which was already mostly hard from their onslaught of attention.

 _Fuck,_ Harry thought, _I’m not… oh, fuck it._ He put his insecurities aside for a moment, preferring to focus on Daphne’s mouth against his own, their tongues meeting and sliding together, while Pansy kissed at his collarbone, then began to _lick_ at his chest, tracing her own tongue over one of his nipples.

Daphne began to slowly stroke him as she nudged his legs further apart with her knee, providing the space for Pansy to continue her own journey downwards, where she now pressed loud, wet kisses against his abdomen.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, as Pansy positively _nuzzled_ against his cock, rubbing her cheek against his length before she took it into her mouth, sucking at the head, her hands running up the insides of his thighs.

“Not _yet,_ ” Daphne teased, as she, too, began to lower herself, pausing to flick her tongue over his other nipple, both of his girlfriends coming to kneel side-by-side between his legs at the side of the bed.

“Mmm,” he moaned contentedly, reaching down to run his hands gently over the backs of their heads, as Pansy began to bob up and down on his cock, while Daphne licked and kissed at his shaft near the base.

The pair seemed to be on a mission, as Pansy reached over to guide Daphne lower, the blonde woman beginning to lick and suck at his balls as his brunette partner slid her mouth down his entire length, pressing her nose into the base of his pelvis as she deep-throated him.

When Pansy slid upwards, her mouth was followed by Daphne’s tongue, licking _torturously_ up from the middle of his balls along the underside of his shaft, and when Pansy released him with a _pop_ , Daphne immediately took over, his cock entering her mouth without her even needing to use her hands.

“Fuck, that’s _really_ good,” Harry praised them, as his girlfriends looked up at him from where they knelt, their eyes hooded with lust, slight blushes on each of their gorgeous faces.

They shifted positions, turning so that they were pressed together breast-to-breast, each woman opening their lips to slide along one side of his cock, creating a wet, pleasurable space between their mouths. Harry groaned again as he pushed his hips forward, thrusting back and forth in this impromptu grip made by their lips.

This position had another benefit, as he noted that each of his girlfriends had a hand between the others’ legs; the hurried, twitching motions of their hands clearly indicating that they were fingering each other even as he (sort of) fucked both their faces at once. The trio’s chemistry was on display once more as they easily fell into this unconventional but _very_ pleasurable arrangement.

He sat back and let the women take charge when Pansy pressed her free hand into his hips, slowing his own short thrusts, and instead letting each woman nod their heads from side to side, continuing to stroke his member with their lips and tongues. It almost felt like he was in both of their mouths at the same time, Harry moaning again from this treatment, the erotic sight more than enough to compensate for the way that it wasn’t _quite_ as physically stimulating as a more conventional sort of blowjob.

“Getting close,” he grunted, his pleasure only enhanced when Daphne had begun to moan against his cock, Pansy’s digits proving to be as effective on her girlfriend as her mouth was on her boyfriend.

The pair shifted their positions once again, turning so that their faces were pressed against each other at an angle, their lips half-meeting in a messy kiss, and half wrapped around the tip of his cock. Each brought a hand up onto his shaft, wrapping their fingers together in a positively _lewd_ form of “holding hands”, beginning to stroke him together quickly, _urgently_.

Daphne and Pansy made wet, sloppy sounds as they kissed each other and his cock-head at the same time, his tip slapping noisily against their tongues and lips as their hands moved together, the sheer eroticism of the display – coupled with the way that they both moaned encouragements of “mhmm” or “mmm” – bringing him inevitably closer to climax.

He returned his hands to their heads, gently tangling his fingers through their hair as he felt lightning bolts of pleasure running through his lower body, and his girlfriends increased the pace at which they stroked him, the sordid _slap-slap-slap_ of his cock against their tongues growing louder.

“Fuck!” Harry cried, as he came _hard_ , shooting four long pulses of cum into their mouths, both of his girlfriends moaning eagerly as his climax erupted.

As much as he felt like flopping back onto the bed in the pleasant afterglow which followed his orgasm, Harry was enraptured by the way that Pansy and Daphne immediately turned to focus on each other once again, kissing messily and _salaciously_ as their tongues danced together, strings of Harry’s cum swapping back and forth between their mouths.

Daphne began to moan more loudly first, as Pansy’s hand jerked back and forth between her legs, but Pansy was not far behind either, a high, _almost_ whining sort of groan escaping from her lips as Daphne’s own ministrations brought her towards her own climax.

Harry tightened his grip in each of their hair the slightest amount, wanting to help provide some additional stimulation (as much as he enjoyed being an audience), and this, apparently, was sufficient to bring each of his girlfriends to their peak, both crying out in a sequence so close it might well have been “simultaneous”.

“Wow,” he chuckled, as the pair disentangled from each other, all three flopping onto his bed, one of the women laying against either side of him.

“We’re not done with you yet,” Daphne spoke huskily, pressing a light kiss to his lips, “but we couldn’t wait to spoil you any longer.”

“Mm,” Harry answered, gripping her arse with one hand, “can’t say I’m complaining, but not sure why you think I should be spoiled.”

“Because,” Pansy’s response was positively _smoky_ in tone, “you’re fucking _amazing_.”

“I, er,” Harry was distracted momentarily when Pansy nipped gently at his ear, “I didn’t really do anything _that_ impressive.”

“Ssh,” Daphne murmured, wiggling her hips under his hand, “now’s not the time to be humble, Harry.”

 _“Powerful magic users tend to attract… let’s say ‘allies’,”_ Harry recalled Proudfoot’s words to him, and felt an unsettling twist in the back of his mind.

“I’m just me,” he grumbled, “I definitely don’t need to be _‘served’_ or anything, but I’m not saying no, it’s just…”

“Harry,” Pansy’s tone was a bit sharper, “hush. It’s okay if we _want_ to make you the focus sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s not that, it’s, uh,” Harry stumbled over the words, “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me, yeah? I don’t expect this every time I sling some magic around or-“

He was interrupted by Pansy pressing her lips against his, pushing her tongue into his mouth, snogging him _thoroughly_ in the middle of his sentence.

“Harry,” Daphne spoke reassuringly, “you _do_ have to remember that Pansy and I are _witches_. Like it or not, we’re _going_ to be impressed when you demonstrate your power, and that is _not_ a bad thing, okay?”

“Mmmyeah,” Harry answered her, as Pansy released his lips, “I’m not really explaining it well. I know I’m being a git, it’s just, uh, the whole ‘win a duel, get worshipped for it’ thing kind of makes me worry that-eep!“

Once again, Pansy had moved to cut him off while he was talking, but this time she’d reached to tweak one of his nipples between her fingers, making him squirm.

“Oh, yes,” she drawled, as she rolled off of him, Daphne helping her to push him further into the bed as she talked, “the _Lord Potter-Black_ is such a mighty noble to serve under, and we are but naive, innocent witches who have been _ensorcelled_ by your powers, you tyrant, you.”

Before he could answer, she swung one of her legs over his shoulders, facing his lower body. She then hooked her heels behind his head, pulling his face up into her pussy, trapping him in the _enjoyable_ prison of her soft thighs and smooth stockings.

“Daph,” he heard her say, his ears pressed against her legs, “how many ‘tyrants’ you figure let their girlfriends sit on their face?”

“Hmm, can’t say I’ve heard of any,” Daphne’s tone was cool, but Harry picked up the hint of mirth beneath the surface, as she played the “Ice Queen” role for his benefit, “though I’m not clear how this is relevant.” Though he couldn’t see her, he felt her weight settle over his lower body, and her hand wrapped around his cock again, stroking him idly, “I certainly don’t see any _tyrants_ here, just a couple of gorgeous, _dangerous_ women about to ride this boy until they’re done with him.”

“I agree,” Pansy pulled her heels tighter together, pressing Harry’s face _into_ her sex, “though he seems somewhat _impertinent,_ doesn’t he?”

Harry moaned as he felt Daphne sink onto his cock, and Pansy took advantage of how he opened his mouth, rocking her hips against his face in a way he couldn’t ignore, as he began to eagerly lap at her pussy.

“That’s a good boy,” Pansy teased, continuing to writhe erotically overtop of him, as he moved so that he could grip her arse in one hand, Daphne’s in the other.

_Yeah, I’d be a bloody fool to worry about anything other than enjoying this._

He pushed his tongue inside Pansy in the way that he knew she liked, enjoying the slightly-bitter taste of _her_ as he set about giving her the kind of pleasure that she deserved, letting himself relax as – somehow – her act of dominance had served to chase his worries from his mind.

Not that he remained entirely _submissive,_ either, as he expected that this wasn’t what either Pansy or Daphne wanted from him right now. He began to roll his hips up into Daphne, meeting her own down-strokes, and firmly _grasped_ Pansy’s arse, roughly squeezing her flesh.

 _Her arse isn’t the biggest,_ he happily thought, _but it’s_ **really** _nice._ Harry certainly enjoyed how it filled his hands, soft and pliant under his fingers. 

When he brought his hand down with a _smack_ on her arse cheek, Pansy pitched forwards, and Harry heard her moans become muffled as – presumably – she began to kiss Daphne while the two women rode him at either end. The new angle allowed Harry to slide his hand over his face, inserting three fingers inside Pansy as he lapped at her clit.

He felt her legs beginning to twitch and quiver at the sides of his head, and he smirked in response. While he couldn’t _see_ Daphne riding him, he certainly felt her hot, wet pussy wrapping around his cock, and the delicate sensation of Pansy’s fingers bumping into the base of his shaft probably meant that she’d started to play with Daphne’s clit.

Harry let himself become lost in the moment, as the three of them formed a rough triangle (as they often did during sex); Daphne and Pansy connected with a kiss, while Harry was connected more _intimately_ to each of his girlfriends. The three of them certainly _fit_ together, and Harry was struck once more at how phenomenally _lucky_ he was to have two incredible women in his life.

“Pans,” Daphne whined above him, “I’m cloooose.”

“Good girl,” Pansy’s response was teasing, “I’m getting theeere-“

Harry had chosen this moment to pull his fingers out of her sex, replacing their absence with his tongue, while pressing one of his fingertips – still slick from Pansy’s wetness – against her arsehole. While Harry wasn’t really _wild_ about anal sex (he certainly enjoyed it, but he’d probably stick to conventional methods if left to his own devices), one of the things that Pansy had revealed as their relationship developed was that she was _quite_ a fan of this sort of stimulation.

She was certainly the most enthusiastic of the trio about rimming (giving _and_ receiving), so when Harry attacked her weak point in this manner, pushing his finger inside her arse up to the second knuckle, it was _more_ than enough to push her from “close” to “ _cumming hard_ ”.

Pansy practically crushed his head between her thighs as she tensed up, his face pushed into her cunt in a way that he _loved_. When she recovered, he felt her fingers increasing their pace at Daphne’s clit, and Harry obliged his lovers by pumping his own hips upwards, slamming his hips into Daphne’s with a steady _clap_ , _clap, clap_ sound.

He felt her clench around him, and then a hot spray on his lower torso, as she orgasmed in turn, squirting from the attention of both of her lovers.

The two women flopped off of him, both rolling to one side, so that Pansy was now in the middle between Daphne and himself.

“Haaaaarry,” Pansy whined, “you didn’t cum again yet.”

“I ‘spose I should fix that,” he chuckled, a smirk on his face, as he felt more confident. He rolled onto his side, curiously watching as Pansy and Daphne clambered together, arranging themselves so that Pansy laid with her back to Daphne’s chest, one atop the other.

As he arranged himself between both of their legs, he thought that he understood what they had in mind: the women had positioned themselves so that their hips were roughly aligned, which – when considering that she was a fair bit shorter than Daph – meant that Pansy’s head rested under and to the side of Daphne’s chin, both of Harry’s girlfriends staring up at him expectantly.

 _That’s a fucking brilliant sight,_ Harry thought, as his eyes trailed from between their spread legs, where he could see both of their _dripping_ pussies, to their chests, to their glittering eyes fixed on him.

“Daph first,” Pansy ordered, “c’mere.”

Harry lined himself up once more at Daphne’s entrance, then pushed forward, groaning in satisfaction as he returned to her slick pussy. He lowered himself, laying overtop of his partners (sandwiching Pansy between himself and Daphne somewhat) as he began to thrust in and out of the blonde once again.

They both reached to pull his head closer to theirs, pinning Harry’s face against the side of Daphne’s neck, his girlfriends whispering in his ears, kissing at his neck, and nipping under his jaw in concert.

“Don’t you dare cum outside her,” Pansy commanded in one ear.

Daphne _very much_ agreed, telling him to “cum inside me, Harry, _please_!” in his other ear.

The sheer amount of sensation he felt - from the skin-on-skin embrace they both wrapped around him, to the continuous stream of _begging_ and encouragements they spoke, the gentle tracing of their hands and quick kisses against his neck – was very nearly enough to overwhelm him.

When Pansy murmured “ _fill her up_ ” and followed it by biting his earlobe, it _did_. He shuddered, groaning loudly as he came, his hips pistoning against Daphne’s the whole time. His cock slipped wetly from her, and Pansy swiftly reached down, taking his still-erect member in hand and angling him towards her sex.

“Come on, Harry,” Daphne licked the side of her neck, “give _her_ your cum, do it.”

He was _excruciatingly_ sensitive as he slid inside of Pansy’s tight pussy, every feeling magnified a dozen times, barely even able to believe that he _could_ keep going immediately after his orgasm.

 _I guess that’s the power they have over me,_ he thought, hazily, as he continued to thrust, now penetrating his _other_ girlfriend.

“Fuck yes, yes, yes,” Pansy groaned into his ear, as he reached to slide his hand first to Daphne’s breast, then to Pansy’s, taking full advantage of the _proximity_ the three shared, “ _give it to me, Harry.”_

Over-stimulated and over-sensitive, he didn’t last long inside of her, but he didn’t _need_ to.

He cried out a wordless moan as he came for the second time within minutes, granting Pansy’s request, giving her _everything_ he had left. The strength fled from his body at the same time, as he slumped over his girlfriends in a haze, the two of them cooing delightedly and peppering him with quick kisses.

“Fuck,” he grinned, rolling to the side, not wanting to crush Daphne _too_ badly under the weight of both her partners.

It seemed, however, that his girlfriends weren’t quite finished, as Pansy rolled herself around, writhing in a way that was more graceful than it should have been, repositioning herself so that hers and Daphne’s legs were interlocked, their pussies pressing together.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry spoked, his voice hushed with awe and lust, “that’s so fucking hot.”

“Mm,” Pansy murmured, “it’s not like **_I_** can cum inside her, but I’m happy to _share,_ just the way she likes…”

Harry rolled to his knees, clambering behind Pansy as she ground against Daphne, reaching around to pinch one of her pierced nipples. Underneath the two of them, Daphne just moaned, her hands slapping the sheets, grabbing at the fabric as she thrashed about in ecstasy.

“Pansy!” Daphne cried, plaintively, as she _spasmed_ , the _pornographic_ way that they ground their sexes together, covering each other in Harry’s cum, clearly helping to fulfill that particular kink of hers.

“Think you can cum like this?” Harry murmured into Pansy’s ear, pulling her close against himself.

“I’m pretty close,” she admitted, breathily, and Harry reached around her, bringing his hand over her neck.

He knew that _this_ was a particular kink of _Pansy’s_ , and since she’d been so obliging of Daphne’s own desires, he figured it was only fair to gratify her in kind: Harry tightened his grip, gently choking her (while being entirely conscious of that particular contradiction), and he felt the motions of her hips become more frantic, less _skillful_.

Harry leaned in to bite the side of her neck that wasn’t under his fingers, sucking her skin under his lips, certainly leaving a hickey for tomorrow.

 _“Fuck!”_ Pansy shrieked, before her body tensed, and Harry felt the skin under his mouth flush hot.

As the three slowly untangled their limbs from each other, Harry fell into the bed first, Pansy scrambling to his other side before she flung herself down in turn. They all sat there for a few minutes in silence, their breaths coming quickly, as they recovered from their exertion.

“Fuck,” Daphne repeated a common phrase, “we’re _really_ good at that.”

“Absolutely,” Pansy drawled, tracing her fingertips over Harry’s chest, “that was _intense_.”

“You two,” Harry exhaled heavily, “are fucking amazing. Really. More than just the shagging, even.”

“You’re not bad yourself, Harry,” Daphne teased, “not a lot of men could _perform_ like that, yeah?”

“Mm,” Pansy joined in with teasing him, “that’s our boy, he’s _exceptional_ in all regards.”

“Thanks,” Harry rolled his eyes while he smiled, “just glad I can live up to being the great-and-powerful Harry Potter, and all that.”

“Hmm, Daph?” Pansy ignored him.

“Mmm?”

“What’re some of the reasons that you like this dumb brute over here?”

“Well,” Daphne rolled onto her side, turning to face Harry, as she tapped her finger against her chin as if she was in thought, “it’s nice that he always looks out for us, really. I can get myself worried about a lot of things, but he has a way of being reassuring just by being himself. He’s got good taste in music, and I always enjoy when he shows me a film that he likes. Maybe it’s a bit silly, but I find it _rather_ attractive that he’s a good cook, and knows how to mix a pretty good cocktail. You?”

“It’s surprising, really, but at some point the man figured out how to be _stylish_ ,” Pansy started to walk her fingers up his chest, as Harry blushed, “I suppose that I could admit that he’s got some basic sort of wit about him, despite how utterly _thick_ he can be, he seems to keep up with me pretty well. He shoots firewhisky like an absolute _champ_ , but I’ve never had to worry that he’s going to be _mean_ to me. And,” she reached between his legs, making Harry jump, “he’s got a pretty great cock.”

“That he does!”

“Thanks,” Harry struggled to find words for a moment, “I, uh… _thanks_. You two are both brilliant, you don’t have to be that nice to me.”

Pansy smacked his chest, but she giggled when she did so.

“It might surprise you,” Daphne teased, kissing the side of his head, “but what Pansy is getting at is that there’s a _lot_ of different reasons we like you, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Pansy admitted, but she reached up to tug on his hair anyways, “so, you absolute lummox, I’ll have no more of this whole ‘what if I am _too_ powerful?’ business out of you. We’re allowed to be impressed by the whole ‘rich and powerful’ thing sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy on you, and it _sure fucking isn’t_ the reason we’re dating you, you oaf.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry smiled, as he felt reassured that he _did_ know this, “I just don’t want to wind up going down any… bad paths, y’know? It feels a bit _too_ good to be in a fight, and I’ve seen where that leads to.”

“Once again,” Daphne took her turn to gently tweak at his ear, “I hardly think that some burgeoning Great and Terrible Lord of Magic would get so embarrassed about being recognized for his accomplishments. You’re lucky that it’s pretty endearing, though.”

“I just know that,” Harry waved his hands in the air, wiggling his fingers, “something about _magic_ tends to, I dunno, _attract_ people to me. I know that’s not the reason I’m with you two, but it’s something that bothers me if I think about it too much.”

“Ah, of course,” Pansy’s sarcasm was _painfully_ obvious, “magic itself has decided to build a network of loyal followers for you, which is precisely the reason that you find yourself dating two women who are _entirely_ unwilling to put up with you being a prat.”

“Well, when you put it like _that_ …” Harry chuckled.

“If people _do_ follow you,” Daphne patted his hair, “it’s because you’re someone _worth_ following. But if you think that you’ve somehow manipulated Pansy and myself into falling for you, then Harry, I have to be blunt: you are nowhere near talented enough to manipulate _either_ of us, let alone both.”

“You two,” Harry lowered his arms, wrapping them around each of his girlfriends, “are the absolute best. Really.”

“I suppose that’s another quality I enjoy about you,” Pansy yawned, “you at least have _some_ modicum of common sense.”

“I happen to agree with him,” Daphne reached across him to stroke Pansy’s cheek, “you _are_ pretty brilliant.”

“’Course I am,” Pansy murmured, clearly becoming sleepy, “it’s you two who are _my_ prizes, remember.”

Harry felt a sense of contentment fall over him, as the afterglow began to win out over the excitement of the evening. He barely remembered to set a waking alarm for the morning before sleep finally overtook him.

* * *

Unfortunately, he hadn’t even made it to the waking charm’s time of activation, as Kreacher had _shrieked_ his presence at nine in the bloody morning, entirely stealing Harry’s hopes to sleep in away from him.

“Right, yes, very good,” Harry muttered to the senile House Elf as he’d been rattling off a series of reports regarding the current number of spiders living in the basement, “I wish for you to… reorganize the library, starting by the author’s last name, and then by the year of publication.”

“Very wise, young master,” Kreacher wheezed, “many useful spells, the Black books have! You will find the books you needs!”

_Fuck, that should keep him busy the next few days, at least._

Harry sometimes almost managed to forget that Kreacher still prowled around 12 Grimmauld Place, but he had begrudgingly admitted that the _ancient_ House Elf was shockingly _happy_ with the way that Harry periodically ordered him around. He’d never understand (nor did he think he _could_ – Kreacher seemed alien even in comparison to the other elves he’d met) how the being’s mind worked, but he had stopped feeling guilty about Kreacher’s lot in life years ago.

When he’d explained to Kreacher that he was entering Pansy and Daphne into his wards, the old elf had been nearly overcome with emotion, crying that Harry was “a most proper Lord of Black”.

_The way he’d asked about “what about the other womens?”, on the other hand, was as baffling as it was unsettling._

As Harry begrudgingly admitted that he was awake, he took a moment to gaze fondly at his two girlfriends, who had been lucky enough to have slept through Kreacher’s announcement. He deactivated his waking charm, deciding to let the women rest a bit longer, as Harry crawled out of bed, pulling a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt on.

He started his morning with a slow jog around the grounds of 12 Grimmauld Place, having realized the night before that while he still possessed the same _speed_ he had as a teenager, his overall endurance wasn’t quite up to par. In addition to that more practical concern, Harry also figured that if his girlfriends continued to be as _enthusiastic_ in the bedroom as they’d been of late (which was the exact opposite of a problem), that he’d have to make damn certain he could keep up.

Chugging a glass of orange juice in the kitchen, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as the night before replayed in his memories, grateful all over again for Daphne and Pansy’s presence in his life. He’d never been the sort to compare this relationship with his one previous experience, but if he had to think about it, he already knew that they both _understood_ him in some way which had simply never been present when he’d dated Gin.

Not that he was bitter – far from it – merely content in the fact that they had both, apparently, managed to find people who fit them much better than he had with her.

He checked the time, and decided to go for a shower before waking the girls up, still having plenty of time before his scheduled firecall with Hermione.

When he emerged from the shower, Daphne had already woken up, smiling at him as she sat beside the bed, brushing her long hair.

“Hey,” she greeted, “you get up early?”

“Yeah, Kreacher decided to show up an hour or so back, and I decided to start my morning from there. Would you like a tea?”

“That’d be lovely! I’ll wake up this one here,” she gestured to Pansy, who remained _solidly_ unconscious, sprawled across the middle of the bed as if she owned it, “and we’ll be down in a few!”

Harry moved around the kitchen, preparing a light breakfast to accompany Daphne’s cup of tea, and the cups of coffee he prepared for Pansy and himself. _Don’t know how she can drink this,_ he thought, amused, as he added the _obscene_ amount of sugar to Pansy’s in the way she enjoyed.

“Mmmthanks,” the woman in question slurred, taking her coffee from Harry in a clumsy, still half-asleep way.

“Cheers,” Daphne replied in kind as he passed her tea to her in turn.

“Y’were up early?” Pansy mumbled.

“Yeah, decided to go for a jog,” Harry answered.

“Why?” Pansy’s confusion was evident _and_ adorable.

“Well, uh,” Harry flipped a series of eggs off the pan and onto plates, “magic can’t do it all, yeah? I’ve got to stay fit somehow.”

“We should do yoga some time,” Daphne continued, “I’m hardly an expert, but that’s usually what I stick to.”

“Ugh,” Pansy rolled her eyes, “you two are a _terrible_ influence.”

“How’s that?” Harry grinned, as he served the plates of food across the table.

“You’ve got me thinking of _exercising,_ ” Pansy grumbled, “like some sort of _peasant._ ”

“I mean, it’s something I enjoy doing,” Daphne shrugged, “you’ve no obligation to join me, of course.”

“No, no,” Pansy took a deep drink of coffee, “it’s something I already thought about. Oh, yeah! Harry!”

“Mm?”

“I want you to teach me how to fight!”

“You what?” he asked, baffled.

“Yeah,” Pansy nodded to herself, “not that I’m expecting to _need_ it or anything, but when I saw you and Bones duelling last night, I realized I’ve _seriously_ been slacking on that front.”

“I mean, sure?” Harry shrugged, “I’m happy to give some pointers, if you want, but I’m not exactly a great teacher or anything.”

Pansy merely snorted in reply, leading Harry to quirk an eyebrow at her.

“You’ve got a lot of hidden talents,” Daphne explained, “teaching seems to be one of them! If you’re offering, I’d be interested in that as well.”

“Why?” Harry blamed his befuddlement on it still being the morning, “I mean, yeah? I think I’m just missing something.”

“Bones put up a pretty good show last night, yeah?” Pansy dunked a piece of toast (halfway to burnt, as per her preference) into an egg (nearly raw, as per the same) as she elaborated, “and who taught her how to fight?”

“Well, I assume that her Aunt did,” Harry shrugged, “but I guess I taught her some of the basics, back in school. I’m still not getting it.”

“I don’t know about Pans,” Daphne answered this time, “but for me, I realized that I’d been neglecting my development as a _witch_ , and I want to correct that.”

“Mhmm,” Pansy hummed her agreement with her mouth full.

“Sure?” Harry piled an egg on top of a piece of toast for himself, “I’m happy to, if that’s something you two are interested in.”

“The thing you talked about, last night,” Daphne continued, “about magic attracting ‘followers’? It’s not _wrong,_ per se, but I don’t think you’re picturing it the right way. The leading theory in Pureblood circles is that an individual’s magic is somewhat of an _aura_ around them, rather than being contained to their person alone.”

“Oh,” Harry didn’t get it, “that means…?”

“If we keep spending time with you,” Pansy interjected, “for some _foolish_ reason or another,” she winked at Daphne when the blonde knocked her leg into Pansy’s as a gentle admonishment, “then it’s not unreasonable to expect that we both might get stronger in our own magic.”

“Huh,” Harry had never heard this theory, “I didn’t know about that, but, yeah, makes some kind of sense, I suppose.”

“It’s like,” Daphne scrunched her face up in thought, looking _far_ prettier while doing so than she had any right to, “you know how someone’s Patronus can change when they get married? The idea is that that happens because the couple’s magic blends together.”

“Ah, yeah, I know about that.”

“Which reminds me…” Daphne peered at him over her cup of tea, “got a dragon Patronus now, have you?”

“Apparently,” Harry shrugged, “not too sure about that one myself. I figure it’s because I was wearing dragonhide at the time.”

“Mm,” Daphne continued to ponder this for a moment, “that’s possible, I suppose. It’s very rare for a Patronus to change in general, and as far as I know, you haven’t married any dragons behind our back, have you?”

“Heh,” Harry chuckled, “not as such, no. Actually…” he smacked his head, in realization, “well, uh, the tattoo I’ve got of the dragon I _slayed_? It was done with his blood, yeah?”

“That might explain it,” Daphne shrugged, not overly bothered, “it’s usually associated with a ‘rebirth’ of some sort, but that makes more sense.”

Harry felt a chill run down his spine that he quickly dismissed, putting _that_ conversation with his girlfriends aside for some time far, far in the future.

“When’re you calling Hermione?” Pansy interjected, apparently bored with the more academic topic.

“In about,” Harry checked, “half an hour. You staying around?”

“I’ve nothing else to do this week,” Pansy teased him, “my schedule’s _allll_ open for you two.”

“Shame about the Weasley’s Christmas party,” Daphne replied, “it would have been _fantastic_ to see Pansy squirming around there.”

“Ah, yeah,” Harry shrugged. Ron had given him a heads-up the week before that Bill would, in fact, be attending the yearly party, and what’s more that he was bringing Lavender with him; while Harry didn’t have any hard feelings for his former classmate, he knew that she could _not_ be trusted to keep the secret of his, Daphne’s, and Pansy’s relationship.

* * *

When it came time for Hermione’s incoming call, Harry had made himself a second cup of coffee (Daphne and Pansy had insisted that they clean the kitchen, not that it was a significant undertaking with magic and all), seated in front of his fireplace.

“Good morning, Harry!” his friend’s familiar face announced, “how did it go? Were there any notable events to report? Were you able to scope out the general level of support for Cyrus’s bill?”

_As efficient as always, ‘mione._

“Right, uh, yeah, you could say that,” Harry sipped his coffee, “wound up fighting a duel last night.”

“Harry!” her tone was half-admonishing, half-excited, “why? Who did you fight? You won, I presume?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Harry shrugged, “it seems like there was a little plot to target Sue. The Lords Burke, Selwyn, and Yaxley all picked fights with her, then they called in Seconds to try and duel her instead.”

“That’s odd,” Hermione frowned, “Susan’s competency in duelling is well established by now. Who do you believe was the ringleader?”

“Who else? Cyrus, obviously.”

“Even more odd, his typical maneuvers usually revolve around trading favours, not _duelling_.”

“Yeah, dunno,” Harry shrugged again, one of his more frequent gestures when talking about complicated topics with Hermione, “Susan took down Burke’s champion, and I handled the rest. Well, uh, I duelled the Lords too.”

“How did you manage to pull that off?” Hermione shook her head, only _slightly_ ruefully, “I’m no expert, but wouldn’t she have needed a second, er, Second to stand in for one of them?”

“Well, I challenged them all at once,” Harry smirked, “it worked out.”

Hermione took a moment to process this answer, before she actually _giggled_ in laughter.

“You would! That’s _fantastic!_ How did you win? Were any of them competent?”

“Disarmament, and no, not really,” Harry grinned, “Sue got the worst of it, the bloke she duelled was actually pretty decent. Leon-something von Krafft?”

“Haven’t heard the name,” Hermione admitted _not_ knowing something, “from the continent, I take it?”

“Yeah, German, or Austrian? Didn’t really catch it.”

“Babe!” Hermione cried over her shoulder, as Harry’s grin became _malicious,_ catching his friend using a _pet name_ for Viktor, “question for you!”

After a short delay, Viktor’s face appeared beside Hermione’s.

“Harry!” he cried, “good to see you! Who was the man you fought?”

“Susan fought him, not me,” Harry explained, “Leon von Krafft?”

“Oh, _very_ good!” Viktor exclaimed, “he is a man of some renown, yes. Did she win?”

“Yeah, it didn’t look easy, but she pulled it off.”

“Excellent! I duelled him once myself, as an informal challenge, yes?”

“Oh?” Harry was curious about this.

“Yes! A fine opponent, but not, of course, up to the standard of a _Triwizard_ champion.” Viktor’s grin – displayed through the green flames in Harry’s fireplace – was enormous.

“That’ll be good for Sue’s reputation, then,” Harry nodded, “thanks, Viktor!”

“Of course!” he disappeared once again.

“So, _babe_ , what else do you need to know?” Harry smirked, as Hermione immediately became flustered.

“Well, if you spent the night duelling, I’m not expecting that you got a _great_ understanding of the more subtle currents. Were there any other events of note?”

“Er,” Harry recalled something, then stopped, feeling embarrassed.

“Er?”

“Well, at the end of the duel, I made an announcement that I was officially one of Sue’s allies,” Harry scratched the back of his head, “I didn’t think it was exactly _unknown_ to anyone, but Sue sure implied that I made pants of the phrasing somehow.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Daphne around?”

“Yeah…” Harry grimaced; if Hermione wanted to speak to Daphne instead of him, it meant that he’d _really_ made pants of it, “hey, Daph?” he called out.

His girlfriend appeared in short order, wandering out of the kitchen towards the fireplace.

“Good morning, Hermione!” Daphne cheerfully greeted her, “what did you want to ask?”

“Your boyfriend here mentioned that he made an announcement of some sort,” Harry felt a chill as Hermione’s judging gaze turned to him, “would you please explain what he means by that?”

“Oh, right!” Daphne giggled, and Harry’s chills doubled when she turned to him with a _gleam_ in her eye, “my boyfriend, brilliant man that he is, announced his intention to court Susan Bones.”

“I what!?” Harry cried, half-standing from his seat.

“When you announced that _you,_ Lord Potter-Black, stood _beside_ Lady Susan Bones,” Daphne smirked at him as he struggled, “in traditional Pureblood etiquette, you proclaimed that your Houses were considering a merger, and there’s only one way that two single Heads of House would pull that off.”

“I, uh… _fuck_ ,” Harry cursed, “I didn’t mean it that way! I thought it was like when I declared that Hermione was an ally of my Houses!”

“Harry…” Hermione’s admonishment was clear from her tone, “declaring something for your _House_ is different than declaring it for _you_ , you should know that by now.”

“Shite, shite, shite,” Harry began to panic, “is this a problem? Have I fucked things up?”

“Daphne?” Hermione asked.

“Hardly,” Daphne grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair and calming him down only slightly, “I know you didn’t exactly plan it out, but this is actually quite a brilliant maneuver, all things considered.”

“But, Sue…” Harry frowned. The redhead _had_ told him not to worry about it, so at least she wasn’t reading too much into his apparent declaration, right?

“ _Sue’s_ well aware of the need to be cautious about how relationships are portrayed,” Daphne smiled, “it’ll actually be okay, I’m just teasing you. It’s something we can use.”

“What do you think the advantages are?” Hermione asked, and Harry could tell that she was taking notes on this.

“Well, it’s a bit more calculated than we really planned, but that’s almost _why_ it worked out,” Daphne pulled a chair up beside Harry, “by publicly aligning himself with Susan, Harry has both provided a reason for why he stepped in to duel for her _and_ created a voting bloc centred around the two of them. It gets ahead of rumours or gossip and turns it into a form of strength.”

“I can see that,” Hermione nodded, “but wasn’t Harry supposed to be portraying himself as single? I’m not saying I’m a fan of it, but his so-called ‘bachelor eligibility’ was supposed to be something we’re using.”

“That’s the clever bit,” Daphne smirked, “you know Susan’s ‘reputation’ among the Traditionalists, yeah?”

“That they’re bigoted and look down on her for being gay?”

“That’s the one, unfortunately. Well, Harry just dismantled that reputation by accident, and he instead created a _new_ one for her, one where she’ll be seen as the competent navigator of politics that she _is_.”

“How’s that?” Harry was at a loss.

“Well,” Daphne blushed a bit as she turned to him, “you know how I was technically Susan’s ‘date’ last night, right?”

“Yeah?” Harry couldn’t puzzle this out. He knew that Susan certainly enjoyed flirting with Daphne, but he didn’t think that this was actually a _thing_ , let alone something they could take advantage of in public.

“As far as the crusty old Purebloods will see it,” Daphne’s blush only intensified, “well, it'll be that Susan was doing her duty as a woman potentially-betrothed to you; they’re going to believe that she was courting different women on _your_ behalf, seeking out a second wife for one of your two houses.”

“That’s…” Harry was at a loss for words.

“That’s terrible,” Hermione wasn’t, “but if we can use their prejudice against them, then I see what you mean.”

“Actually…” Daphne pondered something, before she called into the kitchen herself, “Pansy! You should be part of this!”

Pansy looked amused as she joined her partners, not really expecting to be part of this debrief.

“Good morning, Pansy,” Hermione greeted her politely.

“Morning, Granger,” Pansy replied.

“I told you that I’d rather you call me Hermione,” the bushy-haired witch frowned.

“Oh, I’m aware… _Granger_ ,” Pansy smirked.

Daphne reached behind herself to pinch Pansy’s arse, who yelped but did _not_ stop smirking.

“She’s only doing it because it annoys you,” Daphne explained, “anyways, I had an idea, if you’re both okay with it…”

“Oh?” Pansy quirked an eyebrow.

“Okay, so, you know how Harry declared that he was courting Susan?” Daphne asked, and Pansy just nodded in response. Harry felt at _least_ three times more like a prat than he already did. “Well, if we play it like I’m being courted as a potential second wife…”

“That’s brilliant,” Pansy grinned widely, “your dad would _hate_ that, and it kneecaps him from being able to act too publicly against Harry, since the entire world could see that you’d be a good fit for him.”

“You _are_ a good fit for me,” Harry protested, “what about Pansy?”

“No, no,” Pansy crossed the room to run her fingers through his hair, just like Daphne had, “it’s not about going public with our _actual_ relationship, it’s about _pretending_ that you’re pursuing Daphne, but as if it isn’t a sure thing yet.”

“That has a lot of benefits,” Hermione agreed, “it would probably wind up convincing some of the more traditionalist sort that you’re one of them, Harry.”

“Well,” Pansy interjected, “the mood among that type is mixed, right now. The divorce part of the bill is surprisingly popular on both sides, yeah? It’s going to be a hard sell to vote against that.”

“That’s good to know, thank you, Pansy,” Hermione’s head turned down, and Harry could swear that he heard the scribbling of her pen, “this is _very_ informative. I’ve got quite a few ideas, but I’ll need to put them together. We’ve got about two months until the Wizengamot reconvenes, yes? Let’s meet in the new year, go over some of our angles of approach.”

“Works for me,” Harry muttered, still confused at how he’d – apparently – managed to bumble his way into a masterful scheme.

“Oh, and we’ll need to involve Susan now, obviously,” Hermione added, “very good! Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, as _he_ was still planning to attend the Weasleys’ party, “sounds good.”

“Excellent! Have a good morning, you three!” Hermione’s face faded from the fireplace.

“Look at our boy,” Pansy drawled, “ _accidentally_ playing politics. Harry Potter just can’t fail, hey?”

“Oh, hush,” Daphne giggled, “but it’s true, Harry, don’t stress out over this. It changes things a bit, but for the best.”

“If you say so,” he sulked, but he _was_ reassured by Daphne’s insistence. He couldn’t believe that he’d functionally _proposed_ to Sue in public, but he was at least grateful that his friend wouldn’t interpret it in the way that others might have.

“So,” Pansy began, “what’ve you two got going on today? I’m going to swing by the shop for a bit, but I was thinking we could do dinner and a movie, maybe?”

“I’m meeting my cousin for a pint or two,” Harry replied, “but other than that, I’m free.”

“I should stop by my place,” Daphne answered, “but yes, I think that sounds lovely!”

“Great!” Pansy leaned in between the two of them, kissing each in short order, “let us know when you’re done, Harry, and I’ll come back.”

Harry smiled, returning to his earlier state of contentment.

 _I guess these_ are _some happy holidays, finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, bad news and good news!
> 
> Bad news: This chapter took me longer than I expected to pull together, going through a fairly significant re-write after I changed my mind on what sort of chapter it would be (originally a multi-POV chapter which had more plot events than fluff). 
> 
> Good news: The way that things wound up coming together, I figure that I'm going to wind up extending the run of this particular installment for a bit longer - not quite sure yet, but there's going to be at least several more chapters, rather than the ~2 that I had planned for when I started writing this one! So to those readers who've been excited to see new chapters for this story, you'll have at least a few more coming!
> 
> In other news, remember when my last chapter was the longest one yet? I LIED 
> 
> I'm looking forward to reactions to this one as well - once again, there's some hints at future plot directions ;)
> 
> The next couple chapters are going to be fluffy (and smutty) more than focusing on the political plotline, but from there, I have some ~ideas~ on what some new developments for the trio will entail.


	13. Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Daphne, and Pansy celebrate Christmas together for the first time, and have an important conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purely fluff!

Harry

The pub was not altogether _dissimilar_ to the Leaky Cauldron, but the way that various Christmas songs were played loudly enough to stop just short of “uncomfortable” was one immediate difference, the loud energy of the various groups of people seated together serving to demonstrate the _openness_ of Muggle culture, when compared to the world that Harry lived in now.

He sat in a corner booth, slowly nursing a pint of brown ale, waiting for the arrival of his cousin. He’d been amused when he realized that the waitress who’d brought him a beer was returning to check on him so frequently not because she was concerned, but because she was _flirting_ with him, the way that he’d been _noticed_ by someone who had no idea who he was a bit of a boost to his confidence.

 _Not that I need much more confidence,_ he mused to himself, _it was way too easy to slip into that whole “Lord Potter-Black” act as it is._

Dudley’s arrival was unignorable; while his cousin was never exactly going to be a _slim_ man, he’d done a lot to shed the pudginess of his youth, replacing it with a burly sort of build, no doubt aided by his work as a construction foreman. Harry thought that there was a vague resemblance to Greg Goyle, now that he’d also reacquainted himself with that former enemy, and he found it strangely reassuring that two of his former bullies were now counted somewhere among his friends.

“Harry!” Dudley announced himself, brushing some snowflakes from his short hair, “good to see you, mate!”

“You too, Duds,” Harry smiled, standing from his seat to embrace his cousin in a very _manly_ sort of hug, slapping each other’s backs enthusiastically, “how’s things?”

“Ah, it’s the slow season, innit?” Dudley seated himself, as the overly-friendly waitress returned to take his order, “but can’t complain. Put an offer in on a house, yeah?”

“That’s fantastic!” Harry raised his glass in cheers to his cousin, clinking their pints together, “how’s Jessica?”

“Oh, she’s good, she’s good,” Dudley’s blush was not something that Harry would have ever expected to see when they’d been younger, but from everything that Harry could tell, his cousin remained _obviously_ adoring of his girlfriend, even after they’d been together for a couple of years.

_Good for him!_

Harry had only met Dudley’s girlfriend a couple of times, and while he wouldn’t ever really picture himself hanging out with her ( _nice girl, but Merlin does she never shut up_ ), her unrelenting energy and cheerfulness had seemed to inspire a sort of steady confidence in his cousin.

“In fact, er,” Dudley’s blush intensified, “I’m thinking of popping the question soon, yeah?”

“Oh?” Harry smiled widely, “that’s great news, Duds! Y’figure she’s the one, hey?”

“Can’t imagine living without her,” Dudley chuckled, “she even gets along well enough with mum, if you could picture it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Won’t talk about mum and dad too much,” Dudley shrugged, “they’re… well, they’re mum and dad, you know how it is.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear,” Harry may have maintained a relationship with his cousin after he’d eventually got past his life at Number 4 Privet Drive, but his aunt and uncle remained out of his life. Still, he was willing to engage in some small talk about them, not so unforgiving as to expect Dudley to ignore his own parents, “Vernon still at the firm?”

“Fuck, dad should’ve retired ages ago,” Dudley shrugged again, “but, yeah. They still spend most their time trying to run the neighbourhood, can’t say much has changed there.”

While Harry certainly appreciated the number of people who’d proven to have grown and bettered themselves over the years, he _also_ found it somewhat comforting, in a strange way, that not _everyone_ had changed their spots. 

“How ‘bout you, Harry? How’s things in your world?”

The phrasing was certainly ambiguous enough that nobody overhearing would find it odd, but Harry still felt compelled to cast an _extremely_ subtle muffliato charm silently, not really wanting to put the effort in to ensuring that every word from his mouth was Muggle-approved.

“Well, mostly I’d say same story, different faces. It’s a bit of a clusterfuck right now, honestly, but it’s all politics and that sort of bullshite.”

“Not, er,” Dudley frowned, “the way it was before, yeah?”

“Nah, nowhere near that bad,” Harry took a pull of his ale, “more a bunch of old money acting out, not changing with the times.”

“Yeah, I know the sort too,” Dudley agreed, “well, not the same, obviously, but prats with more money than sense, yeah? They’re a right pain in the arse, but they pay bloody well, at least.”

“Something like that,” Harry smirked, “I’m trying to build something too, in a way, I suppose, but it’s a bloody dog and pony show trying to get it all to work out.”

“How’s that? I don’t mind if I don’t really get it, yeah?”

“Well, uh,” Harry double-checked the surroundings, “y’know how they keep track of who’s part of what family, who’s married to who, all that?”

“Kinda like royalty, that,” Dudley smirked, “aren’t you basically a Duke or something, yeah?”

“Heh, something like that,” Harry chuckled, “well, the old money’s got themselves all knotted up, they’re trying to start controlling who marries who. It’s a pain in my arse, and trying to convince them _not_ to make a horror-show out of the whole thing is even worse.”

It was easier for Harry to talk about his recent frustrations with Dudley, because while his cousin didn’t _understand_ the intricacies of Pureblood culture and Wizarding laws (nor was he even aware of them), he _definitely_ knew how annoying it was to deal with people who’d rather stick to “tradition” rather than actually allow people to be happy.

“What, like you might have to marry some rich old bird?” Dudley grinned, “doesn’t sound too bad to me, y’know.”

“You might not think that if you saw some of these women…” Harry grumbled.

“Well, I mean, I can’t say I really _get_ it, but it seems like it can’t be that bad. You look good, mate, seems like you’re more relaxed these days even with rich prats being dickheads.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “I can’t say it’s ideal or anything, but I’m doing pretty alright.”

“You seein’ someone, yeah?” Dudley smiled easily. His cousin may not have been the most academic sort, but Dudley had a way of seeing through Harry’s vague allusions to his social life in a surprising way.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, the answer coming easily, “I am, actually.”

“What’s her name?”

“Well, er,” it was Harry’s turn to blush now, “that’s the thing… there’s two of them?”

“You dog,” Dudley grinned widely, chucking Harry in the shoulder playfully, “didn’t know that was a thing for you lot!”

“It’s not really common,” Harry shrugged, “but, well, it seems like I’m not really the most normal sort, even in _my lot._ ”

“So?”

“Yeah?”

“So what’re _their_ names, Romeo?”

“Right,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, “well, one’s named Pansy, the other’s Daphne.”

“Why, Harry,” Dudley raised his glass in cheers again, “those names sound right ‘normal’, don’t they? I was expecting somethin’ like your friend, Hermey-none or however it was.”

“ _Hermione_ was born in regular old Britain, y’know,” Harry chuckled, “but yeah, some names get… creative.”

“Got a picture, or anything?”

Harry had, in fact, prepared for this question, producing an entirely non-magical picture that he’d taken of his girlfriends. Dudley whistled, impressed.

“They’re _right_ fit, good on you, mate!” his brow furrowed in thought, “y’know, I think I recognize the brunette, which one is she?”

“That’s Pansy.”

“Yeah, can’t say I’m certain of it,” Dudley muttered, “but a few years back, I think I saw her get kicked out of a club, she was certainly yelling about, uh,” he glanced around, before whispering “ _Muggles_.”

“Yeah? I could see that,” Harry chuckled, “she was one of the _bad_ crowd for a while, sounds like something she might do.”

“A few of your uh, coppers showed up, they let me go when I told them who you were,” Dudley cracked another grin, “pays to have friends in high places, doesn’t it?”

 _That explains why he wasn’t obliviated after Pans broke the Statute of Secrecy,_ Harry realized.

“One of the bad lot, was she?” Dudley handed the photo back to Harry, “how’d that work out?”

“Funny thing, that,” Harry grinned widely at the memory, “she spent _years_ making fun of me, going at me every time we were at an event together. Took me _ages_ to realize that that’s how she flirts.”

“Seems to be going well for you,” Dudley, once more, clinked his glass to Harry’s, “seriously, Harry, you look like you’re doin’ great. Haven’t seen you this happy in, well, ever, to be honest.”

“They’re brilliant,” Harry agreed, “I don’t think I _have_ been happier, really.”

“It’s like Jess says,” Dudley smiled wisely, “takes a good woman to keep a bloke in line, yeah? It figures that you’d need more than _one_ to keep you on the right path.”

“Hey, I haven’t knocked anyone out in, uh, a few days…”

The two men laughed at this, finishing their pints, continuing to trade light-hearted jokes as they caught up over the next couple of hours. When it came time for both to depart, Dudley brought Harry into another tight hug, recommending “Love Actually” as an appropriately Christmassy film that Harry could watch with his girlfriends.

 _Don’t think it’d be to their taste, not much for rom-coms, those two,_ Harry thought, _but they always surprise me._

* * *

Daphne

The Weasley household was entirely unlike anything that Daphne had been used to in her own childhood, but she found that the nearly-tangible mood of camaraderie and _family_ in the air was something that she very much enjoyed, even with the frenetic pace of conversation that flowed through the party.

While Pansy couldn’t attend due to the ever-frustrating need to keep their relationship a secret – for now – Astoria had made it quite clear that Molly Weasley had _insisted_ on Daphne’s own attendance, apparently unwilling to even consider the possibility that her son’s sister-in-law might celebrate Christmas alone.

The Weasley matriarch was, as always, a _lot_ , but Daphne almost found the worry and fussiness over her to be comforting.

“It’s so good to see that you’re doing well!” Molly Weasley exuberantly gestured with a serving ladle as she spoke, “I saw that you had a piece of artwork on display at Susan Bones’s place, that’s quite the accomplishment! So many young women your age get so worried about finding a husband, but it will come in time, and doing your own thing for now is something to be proud of! Of course, starting a family is a gift of its own, and there’s just nothing like having children, even though they’ll make you worry, it’s so worth it!”

Daphne glanced over the redhead woman’s shoulder to catch Ginevra’s eye, who smiled at her in sympathy. Molly had already not-so-subtly inquired at least _seven_ times – by Daphne’s count – this evening when it was that Draco and Ginny planned to begin their _own_ family.

It was something that Daphne felt _could_ bother her, given how her own upbringing had focused so sharply on the need to produce _heirs,_ but the way that the Weasley mother pushed and prodded simply felt… _different_ than the types of pressure which Daphne found so unbearable.

“And, you know,” Molly’s voice dropped to a lower volume, “I know that the papers are saying that Harry’s involved with Susan, somehow, but as far as I know he’s still single…”

Apparently, it took all of an hour for Molly to start treating Daphne as if she were one of her own children, and the unbridled _enthusiasm_ was sufficient to prevent Daphne from feeling offended or defensive over these obvious ploys.

 _Besides, Harry_ is _a pretty good catch,_ she thought, catching a glimpse of her boyfriend chatting easily with George Weasley, Hermione, and Draco. She smiled to herself, pleased to see Harry _relaxed_ , socializing without the need to worry about how he was perceived. This level of comfort was still somewhat unfamiliar to her, but she was confident that there was nothing “Ice Queen” about her demeanour tonight.

If anything was unusual, in fact, it was the way that William Weasley had interacted with Harry: the Weasley heir had exchanged tense pleasantries with her boyfriend (who, for his part, seemed to behave entirely as expected), then retreated to the opposite side of the room, occasionally giving furtive glances towards Harry’s direction.

 _Maybe it’s the way that William’s new girlfriend is making eyes at Harry,_ she wondered – without any jealousy, as Lavender Brown posed no threat to her in _any_ way – as she couldn’t help but try and puzzle out the _meaning_ of particular interactions. Daphne may not have been engaged in the complicated manipulations custom to Pureblood culture, but her _education_ wouldn’t allow her to entirely ignore her own curiosity about these matters.

 _Or, perhaps it’s because William fears that Harry will retaliate for Fleur’s sake, somehow,_ she mused, _not that it seems like she’s too upset at being divorced._

While Daphne still wasn’t entirely _comfortable_ with the way that Fleur so obviously teased Pansy and Harry (not that _he_ noticed it), she’d at least come to accept that the French witch was simply a _flirt_ by nature, and that it seemed unlikely that any serious _intent_ lay behind the provocations. If anything, it was the woman’s clear _talent_ for engaging in subtle manipulations which set Daphne’s nerves off, even if she had to admit that the half-Veela hadn’t actually done anything _disagreeable_.

“Daph!” Astoria called out, “got a minute?”

“Oh, I’m keeping you!” Molly cut in, “go, talk to your sister!”

 _Thanks, Stori,_ Daphne thought, bemused.

“She means well,” her sister explained, “but Molly can be a bit much.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind,” Daphne smiled, sitting beside her sister, “what’d you need?”

“To talk to you,” Astoria adjusted in her seat. She was _obviously_ pregnant at this stage, her belly swollen to the point that she had to _lounge_ rather than sit, but as uncomfortable as it looked, Astoria seemed downright _proud_ of her state.

“Mhmm?” Daphne replied, curious.

“I heard about the events at the Winter Solstice Gala,” Astoria pursed her lips, “rather daring of you, I’d say, but I’m not opposed to the outcome.”

“Thank you?” Daphne really hoped that Astoria wasn’t about to engage her in any sort of political debate.

“Not that you need any of my advice,” Astoria continued, “but if you _were_ intending to hint at certain… _ideas_ regarding a famous wizard, then you should probably know that Miss Brown over there happens to be a known contributor to _Witch Weekly_.”

_Sharp as always, sister._

“Is that so?”

“I think,” Astoria’s eyes glittered, “that while subterfuge has a certain appeal, I might enjoy seeing you able to express some _part_ of your real feelings, yes?”

Daphne fought back a blush, pondering the message. Their plan to portray Harry as a potentially-interested-but-not-sure suitor of Daphne’s was still something being developed between Hermione, herself, and Harry, but on a _personal_ level, she certainly enjoyed the idea of being able to be more publicly affectionate (in careful, measured ways, of course) with her boyfriend.

For as much as she’d sworn that she’d never again set foot in the arena of Pureblood politics, the fact that Harry was at risk of falling victim to her father’s machinations had made it an easy choice to re-engage in those old habits, to be able to protect him in any way that she could.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Daphne replied coolly, though she broke into a light giggle when Astoria rolled her eyes and kicked her foot lightly. “How are you? Any idea as to your due date yet?”

“Not long from now,” Astoria grumbled, “and about time. I’m _enormous_ , Daph, thank fucking Merlin I’m not having twins.”

“That _is_ a possibility,” Daphne teased, “whenever you have the next one.”

“One’s enough for now,” her sister smiled, laying her hands over her belly, “check back with me in a couple years, when this one’s grown up a bit.”

“Decided a name yet?”

“We have a few ideas,” Astoria idly hummed in thought, “you should find out by February, at this rate.”

“I can’t wait!”

“Yes, well, as the godparents, I expect that you and Mister Potter will be among the first to know,” Astoria rolled her eyes once again, as in the other room, the aforementioned Harry Potter had somehow found himself in an awkward half-hug, half-headlock administered by Ronald, “not that my husband is much for subtlety. Go retrieve him for me, would you?”

“I’d be delighted,” Daphne smirked.

She crossed the room to the pair of men, whose friendly jostling was being loudly cheered on by George.

“Ronald, my sister wants to speak to you,” Daphne interjected, and he looked half-chastised as he released Harry from their rambunctious tussle.

“Cheers!” Ronald scurried to the other room, leaving an _entirely_ -bashful looking Harry standing in front of her.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue, Daphne,” Harry smiled warmly, “I think I had it in hand, but I won’t complain that I’m in your company instead of Ron’s.”

“I just hope you don’t expect to wrestle with me,” Daphne teased, “I rather think it would end poorly.”

“Oh, I can be quite gentle, actually!”

“For _you_.” Daphne delighted in the way that Harry blushed at this, their flirting not quite _subtle_ , but not nearly as satisfying compared to the idea of him _actually_ taking her in his arms.

“I didn’t know you two were close!” Lavender Brown had chosen to appear at this moment, a wide smile on her face failing to disguise the _intrigue_ in her eyes.

“Ah, yeah,” Harry reached back to scratch at the back of his head, “uh, Miss Greengrass and I have become somewhat acquainted with each other lately, mutual friends and all that, yeah?”

Daphne glanced to the side of the room, where William was practically the image of “having his hackles raised”, another curious display from the oldest Weasley son.

“I’ve heard you’re quite the artist, Daphne!” if Lavender noticed any tension in her… boyfriend(?), it wasn’t apparent, “what’s next for you there?”

“Ah, well,” Daphne brushed her mild concerns aside, “who’s to say? I’m taking commissions still, but that’s about as far as I have planned ahead.”

“Oh, that’s very interesting,” the woman giggled, “I've gotta get back to BIll! Nice talking to you!”

When she flounced across the room to return to her boyfriend, Lavender then actually _draped_ herself across his lap, toying with William’s hair as she continued to excitedly go on about something or other. The man seemed to relax at this, though Daphne didn’t miss the _possessive_ grip of his hand on Lavender’s leg.

 _Quite literally territorial?_ Daphne wondered. William had made no secret of the ways that a werewolf’s bite had affected him, becoming the unintentional face of a new demographic calling themselves “wolf-blooded”; not fully were _wolves_ , but neither were they entirely _human_ in their instincts, from what she understood.

Lavender Brown, of course, was another of this group. Daphne didn’t intend to pass judgment on whatever dynamics the couple enjoyed in their relationship, but she found it somewhat unsettling how William seemed to stake a _claim_ on the witch.

“They look happy,” Harry’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“A bit clingy for my preference,” Daphne answered, “but who am I to say what works for others?”

“There’s definitely a lot of unconventional arrangements out there,” Harry agreed, leaning in towards her ear, “like whatever Pansy’s going to have in mind for us when we get home,” he whispered.

Daphne didn’t have to _pretend_ to be flustered, her blush rising naturally.

 _It was a mistake to teach you how to act like you’re flirting with me,_ Daphne smirked, _you’re too good at it._

* * *

Pansy

Christmas day had never really been a holiday that Pansy had _celebrated_. Certainly, her parents had paid lip service to the whole _Yule_ tradition when she’d been young, but the gifts she’d received from them had always been purely material; a few dozen Galleons here, a new piece of jewelry there.

This, of course, left her deeply _uncertain_ as to how her own gifts would be received on this first occasion where she wanted to make someone _else_ happy. She would stubbornly resist the idea that she was _nervous_ , but she felt an unsettling sort of _anticipation_ as Harry and Daphne sat beside her, each with a pair of boxes at their feet.

“Do you want to go first, Pans?” Daphne asked her, and Pansy fidgeted under the _caring_ that her partners looked at her with.

“Yes, might as well,” she mumbled, shoving a box into Harry’s arms first, then Daphne’s, “Happy Christmas, and all.”

The recent visits to her shop had been for entirely _personal_ reasons, devoting the time to crafting these _gifts_ for her boyfriend and girlfriend. She’d gone through so many different ideas and iterations that she had no idea if she’d even made the _right_ decision on what she’d eventually made for them, but she was at least confident enough that they wouldn’t _hate_ what they received.

She now felt a whole new fear that it was _cheesy_ to have made their gifts, that she should have instead used some of her profits to purchase something for both of them, but if trying to puzzle out Harry’s preferences was one thing, trying to imagine something that he couldn’t have bought for herself was a challenge on a whole new level.

“Harry, you go first,” she ordered him, sipping her mug of coffee (cut with a healthy portion of cream liqueur) to mask the embarrassing _warble_ in her voice.

He pulled the wrapping paper apart carefully, lifting the lid from the enchanted gift box, and withdrew the item she’d made for him; a dragonhide jacket, in the “café racer” style. Suitably fashionable while being much less _imposing_ than his armour made of the same material, it was heavy enough that it would serve as adequate protection when he rode his ridiculous _magical motorcycle_ , the existence of which was a fortunate surprise for her.

“Pans!” Harry cried out happily, and she felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders, “this is incredible!”

She was about to come up with a pithy retort along the lines of “what did you expect?”, but didn’t have the time to speak before he leaned over and kissed her. Pansy reached up into his hair, ruffling his head as she felt her own lips turn up into a smile against his.

“Well, try it on, Harry!” Daphne cheered, and he stood up with _visible_ excitement as he immediately did so.

“Not bad, if I say so myself,” Pansy let herself brag a little bit.

“Not bad?” Daphne whistled, “you look _quite_ dashing, Harry!”

He did, at that. The classic style of the jacket worked well with him, and though the fact that he currently wore it over pyjama pants spoiled the effect somewhat, Pansy hoped that this present might well become a staple of his wardrobe.

“It’s brilliant, Pans,” Harry grinned as he sat back down, “ _you’re_ brilliant.”

“Daphne, you may open yours now,” Pansy replied, feeling a blush at the back of her neck.

She’d taken somewhat of a different approach when it came to her girlfriend: _her_ gift was somewhat less likely to become a staple item, but one that she felt would help to fulfill some of Daphne’s recent interests.

“Ooh!” Daphne announced, similarly excited, “these are _also_ brilliant! How long did you spend on this, Pans? They’re amazing!”

The pair of dragonhide trousers that she’d crafted were as stylish as she could possibly have managed, the scaly leather overlaid over panels of charmed stretching fabric, following the principles of “leather pants” while being much more flexible and mobile than a Muggle equivalent.

“Oh, no bother,” Pansy dismissed the compliment, though her blush only grew stronger, “I thought they’d be good for your ‘edgy artist’ vibe, yeah?”

“I imagine they are,” Harry had a teasing note in his voice, “but you should try them on anyways, yeah?”

Daphne rolled her eyes as she grinned, quickly shuffling out of her own pyjama pants and drawing the new pair over her hips.

“Well?” Daphne smirked, turning around to show how they fit.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry whispered, “that’s practically a gift to both of us, yeah?”

“Never let it be said I don’t look out for my own interests,” Pansy drawled, as Daphne smirked, cocking her hip to demonstrate just how well the pants clung to her arse. While not quite _pornographic_ in the way that they outlined her curves, the sight was enough to give Pansy all _sorts_ of ideas of different events that Daphne could show off at.

“These are great,” Daphne murmured, leaning down to kiss Pansy, “even if it’s an excuse to look at my arse.”

“I don’t think we need an excuse,” Harry teased, smacking his hand against said (incredible) arse for emphasis.

“Well, I absolutely love them,” Daphne giggled, squeezing into the space between Harry and Pansy, “you two are next!”

“Go ahead, Pans,” Harry murmured, and she grumbled in assent as she unwrapped Daphne’s gift to _her_.

_Oh!_

She pulled a camera free of the gift box, an older model in the Polaroid style, but she could _tell_ that it was magical in some way.

“I thought,” Daphne explained, “that since you wanted to do more photoshoots for your shop, that you might appreciate an upgrade. If I got the charms right, that’ll take pictures that aren’t really magical _photographs,_ but more like… charmed prints? They’ll show up better on paper, and you can actually put them into notebooks, so I hope-“

Pansy interrupted her by pulling her into another kiss, pressing their lips together _urgently_.

“It’s fucking amazing,” Pansy confirmed, “just what I wanted, and I didn’t even know it myself.”

“Well I’m glad you like it,” Daphne blushed, “I was worried that…”

“Shush,” Pansy smirked, “this is _just_ as perfect as your arse is.”

“Harry,” Daphne turned back to their boyfriend, “open yours now!”

He seemed just as excited to open Daphne’s gift as he had opened Pansy’s, and she spent a moment just appreciating the _absurdity_ of this scene; merely a year ago, the idea of winding up in a relationship would have been alien to Pansy, and now she was sitting here, watching her boyfriend ( _Harry fucking Potter)_ exuberantly opening a gift from their _girlfriend_ , the whole arrangement feeling more natural than anything Pansy had ever experienced before.

“Oh!” Harry announced, pulling a bracelet out of the box, “this is neat!”

“It gets better,” Daphne teased, “I noticed, um, that you haven’t got any tattoos on your left arm yet, and you said that you haven’t had any ideas for it yet, so, well…”

Pansy stroked her girlfriend’s hair, leaning in to murmur “he loves it, don’t worry” in reassurance.

Harry’s eyes lit up in glee as he attached the bracelet (itself a fashionable, masculine sort of accessory) to his left wrist, a veritable explosion of ink spilling over his skin as he did so, swirls of orange, blue, and black covering his forearm.

“It took me ages to get the charms right,” Daphne explained, “and you can swap out the painting, of course, it’s just a little something I did of a Phoenix.”

“It’s one of your paintings?” Harry grinned widely, “that’s _amazing_ , Daph!”

“It suits him,” Pansy agreed, “the boy could use some colour in his ink, that’s for certain.”

“Amazing,” Harry repeated, taking his turn to kiss Daphne, “fuck, the two of you were so creative with your gifts to me, now I just hope that I measure up!”

He seemed almost more excited to pass gift boxes to his partners than he had been to open his own presents, and _that_ was saying something.

“Pans?” Harry’s enthusiasm was infectious.

She opened the box, the object within _far_ too long to have fit inside it without the aid of magic. The sweeping lines of a broomstick were familiar enough to her, but she didn’t recognize the glossy, all-black model, finely polished and glittering under her gaze. A small plate near the base of the handle read “03”, but no further identification was obvious.

It looked _expensive_.

“That’s, er, a Firebolt Prime,” Harry explained, “they’re not publicly released yet, but since you wanted to go flying and all, I figured…”

“Harry,” Pansy teased, “did you get me an experimental, high-powered broom because you thought I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you otherwise?”

“Er,” he looked discombobulated, and Pansy giggled at his reaction, as she leaned across Daphne to kiss him before he could start worrying.

“You’re right,” she smirked, “and this is… incredible.”

“It’s still in development,” Harry muttered, “but it kind of reminds me of you. A bit stubborn on turns, but the _speed_ , whew.”

“You know me too well,” Pansy joked again, letting a wide smile cover her face as she ran her fingers down the broomstick. _“Expensive, experimental, and dangerous” are practically my main traits,_ she thought, _this is absolutely ideal._

“I’m just glad you like it,” Harry smiled, “so, uh, Daph, your turn?”

“Oh, this is pretty!” Daphne now opened hers, revealing a small, intricate-looking music box, “what’s it play?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Harry started to explain, “it kinda plays whatever you do. See the button on top? Set it down where you’ve got some space, and push that.”

As Daphne walked to the middle of the room, Pansy pulled her eyes away from the sway of her girlfriend’s hips to meet Harry’s own gaze, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity. Harry merely grinned bashfully, nodding back towards Daphne.

When she pressed the button on top of the music box, with a _“fwoosh”_ of magic, a grand piano, all in white, appeared in the middle of the room.

 _Elegant, beautiful, and artistic,_ Pansy immediately noticed, _just like Daph. Good call, Harry._

“I figured,” Harry explained, “you’d mentioned you missed playing music, and I figured you liked piano the best, given that you’ve got _Moonlight Sonata_ tattooed and all, and I haven’t seen one at your flat, so, uh, now you can play whenever you want, yeah?”

Daphne hesitantly played a few short melodies, standing in front of the keyboard, and Pansy saw her take a deep, shuddering breath. When she turned back to the pair on Harry’s couch, Daphne had tears in her eyes.

“Daph?” Harry started, but Pansy’s own twinge of concern was immediately pushed away as Daphne practically _ran_ back to them, bringing both Harry and Pansy into her arms as she crawled on top of their laps.

“I love it,” Daphne gasped, her breath hitching, “I… I love _you_. Both of you.”

_Oh._

Pansy felt a surge of emotion at this announcement. It wasn’t altogether _unexpected,_ given how they’d all been dating for a few months by now, but these were words that she’d never heard before, let alone _felt_.

“I love you too,” Harry answered, happily, “and I love you, Pansy.”

Pansy wedged her face into the side of Daphne’s neck, blinking back an unexpected tear of her own.

“Well, of course,” she spoke, after a moment, “I love the both of you. C'mere.”

Harry's arm slung around her shoulders as she extended her own around his back, and the three sat in contented silence, each embracing the other two.

Though she’d never really imagined that she’d ever find herself saying these words, the realization that she _meant_ them, with every fiber of her being, was something that she would never change. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww :P
> 
> It's taken them a little while to get here, but this marks another important milestone for the trio! 
> 
> I'm not as confident in my ability to write ~romance~ as I am with other aspects of their relationship, but I think that this was sort of the most organic way for those words to be spoken - spur of the moment, emotionally-charged, and vulnerable :P
> 
> I'm looking forward to the reactions to this chapter and the corresponding feedback!


	14. Celebration (Daphne/Pansy/Harry, Daphne/Harry, Pansy/Harry, Daphne/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of scenes from the trio's first couple weeks in the New Year, mostly celebrating each other ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, some fluff, smut, a bit of plot, smut, and then - wait for it - smut!

The party was in full swing by the time that Daphne, Harry, and Pansy had wandered off to the side together. Fortunately for the trio, the guests at Neville’s New Year’s Eve party were all those in the know as to the status of their relationship, which allowed them to openly share affection with each other rather than hiding it from prying eyes.

In many ways, the party itself served as a demonstration of how much healing the Wizarding world had managed since its last war; Pansy’s friends were in attendance alongside Harry’s, with Greg Goyle and Draco Malfoy enthusiastically welcoming each other to a _new_ friendship, one not built on the foundation of “leader and enforcer” of a student-body extremist movement.

In other ways, some of the guests _not_ in attendance proved to show that issues, difficulties, and problems still existed. Susan Bones was absent – having notified Neville that she was presently occupied working with the Ministry of Magic in an ambiguous role – as were a number of Harry’s circle of friends who couldn’t quite be trusted to keep the trio’s secret.

Each of the three was aware, in their own different ways, that this was likely to be one of the last occasions for a while that they’d be lucky enough to demonstrate the love they felt for each other in _public_. The pressures placed on each of the three due to Lord Cyrus Greengrass’s plots and schemes required each to present a certain face to society, one which did not _yet_ have room for revealing their three-person relationship.

Still, they did well to keep these sorts of bittersweet thoughts from spoiling the evening. They joined in the rest of the guests in excitedly counting down from “ten” to mark the new year, and when cheers whooped through the crowd and bottles of champagne popped at “zero”, Pansy pulled each of her partners down to her, pressing their faces together so that she could plant a kiss on the corners of both of their lips at once.

Harry, for his part, could still hardly believe how lucky he was. While he wasn’t _quite_ approaching the status of a “long-term bachelor” before he’d started dating his girlfriends, it had been some time since he’d had a partner to share this tradition with, let alone _two_ partners.

Daphne simply allowed herself to be swept up in the cheer, at ease with how she didn’t have to _gauge_ and _measure_ the interactions she had with the other guests, finally able to just be “Daphne” instead of “Daphne, of House Greengrass”.

Pansy, of course, felt similarly content, but had her thoughts focused on matters particularly close at hand; that is, as she sidled between her partners, she reached past their lower backs to take a _solid_ handful of each of their arses.

She smirked happily when they responded by crossing their arms over one another over her own back, in turn squeezing both of _her_ cheeks together.

“Let’s pop a bottle, hang out for a bit longer,” Pansy proposed, “then get out of here, yeah?”

“That eager to get us home, are you?” Daphne teased, an easy smile on her face.

“It sounds brilliant to me,” Harry grinned, “you both look lovely tonight, but I’ve got to admit, I’m looking forward to seeing those dresses off…”

Pansy chuckled as she took the opportunity to lightly slap each of her partners’ arses.

“You’ve got such a way with words, Harry,” she teased, disentangling herself from the pair as she set off to procure one of the aforementioned bottles of champagne, “it’s a good thing I’ll be drunk enough to find you charming.”

As she walked away, she felt a warm feeling rise in her chest at the way both Harry and Daphne’s gazes had immediately dropped to arse-level before she’d even turned around. It felt _good_ to be appreciated, let alone by two people that – in Pansy’s eyes – were particularly impressive in their own rights.

* * *

Harry

_Fuck me,_ Harry goggled, _I was really on the right track, wasn’t I?_

While Pansy and Daphne did indeed look fantastic at the party – Daphne in a shimmery, silver sequined cocktail dress, Pansy in a dark green velvet number which hugged her curves _distractingly_ – he _definitely_ preferred the lacy lingerie revealed as the two witches enthusiastically stripped one another.

He hurried to unbutton his dress shirt and kick his trousers aside so that he could join his girlfriends, who’d now fallen onto his bed together, Pansy on top of Daphne, the pair kissing each other passionately.

Pansy made a satisfied half-groan, half-giggle when he moved beside her to kiss at the spot just below her jaw, turning to press her lips into his own, her tongue darting and flicking against his. She shuffled forwards, coming to seat herself on Daphne’s lower stomach, before reaching back to hook her arms under Daphne’s knees, pulling the blonde’s legs open and back.

“Haaarry,” Pansy whined, “do the Parseltongue thing to her.”

He smirked, happily moving to crouch at the end of the bed to obey Pansy’s (only _somewhat_ ) needy request.

 _Fuck, you’ve got such nice legs,_ he thought, running his hands teasingly down the underside of Daphne’s thighs, before leaning in to press a soft kiss directly against her pussy, still covered by her lacy, white thong.

He groaned along with her as he pulled the garment to the side, following the action with a slow, languid lick up the entirety of her sex. She was already wet, her slightly-salty, slightly-bitter taste only tantalizing him even further. He buried his face into her, the small patch of soft blonde curls above her pussy running against his nose as he pressed his tongue between her lower lips.

Fixing his gaze on Pansy’s lower back (so _conveniently_ positioned directly in his line of sight while looking up from between Daphne’s legs), where her serpent tattoo stood out in green ink, Harry began to speak whatever thoughts entered his mind, only in Parseltongue.

 _“You’re so bloody hot,”_ he hissed, his tongue flickering and writhing more quickly than any ordinary person could hope to match. The effect was immediate, Daphne’s legs quivering, her whole lower body twitching as Pansy held her in place.

 _“You like this, don’t you?”_ the phrase set off another spasm through the blonde, followed by a plaintive cry when he continued with “ _Good. I’m glad.”_

 _“I’m glad I can make you feel good,”_ he admitted, and though she couldn’t understand the words, her _body_ certainly responded as if it did, the powerful clenching of her thighs almost pulling Pansy from her seat, as Daphne reached her first orgasm of the night.

“Give her another,” Pansy smirked over her shoulder, hauling Daphne’s legs even further apart by leaning forwards.

“ _If you say so,”_ Harry replied, and Daphne practically _wailed._

 _“Come for me,”_ he ordered in the language of serpents, amusing himself by the fact that he was dating two so-called “Snakes” from Hogwarts, _“I love watching it. I love you.”_

Daphne actually _screamed_ as his tongue continued its rapid motions, her second orgasm in a span of minutes tearing through her, marked with a hot spray of fluid against Harry’s face as she came _hard_.

“Fuck,” Daphne whimpered, “that’s enough, that’s enough. Merlin, that makes me sensitive.”

Harry smirked as he rose from his knees, where Pansy released Daphne’s legs from her arms in order to twist around to kiss him, making a _clear_ demonstration of her approval when she lewdly ran her tongue along the side of his face.

“That means it’s your turn,” Harry spoke, his voice husky, as he brought a hand down to spank Pansy lightly.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the brunette teased in response, bending over to stick her arse out, wiggling it at him as she did so.

He pulled Pansy’s own thong over her deliciously curvy hips, down her thighs, just far enough to expose her pussy. Harry could already see that she, too, was slick with arousal, so he decided he’d give her something that she _frequently_ requested.

Harry pushed his entire length inside of her with one quick thrust, planting one arm on the bed for leverage, while reaching around her torso with the other to grip her breast firmly.

“Mmm,” Pansy moaned in pleasure, especially when Daphne propped herself up underneath them, latching on to Pansy’s other breast with her lips.

He set a fast pace, a _hard_ pace, as he plunged in and out of her tight sex with urgency. Harry didn’t intend to draw this out, while he certainly enjoyed the near- _marathon_ sessions the trio sometimes engaged in, in this moment he felt like getting Pansy and himself off as quickly as possible was just right.

“Choke me a little?” Pansy whined, her voice hitching at every thrust. As Harry started to reach to obey her request, he was slightly surprised to see Daphne beating him to the finish line, one of her elegant hands wrapping around Pansy’s throat and _squeezing_ in a way that, somehow, looked positively _sensual_.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, the sight nearly as erotic as the feel of Pansy’s pussy around his cock. He decided that – if Pansy wanted a bit of the rough treatment – he might as well oblige her, removing his hand from her breast (after a final, solid grope) and instead tangling it in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck even further to Daphne’s grasp.

Pansy made a wordless, _satisfied_ sound as she tensed up, shuddering in place, the obvious sign that she’d just orgasmed. When Daphne and Harry both released their grips on her, she slumped forward, planting a kiss on Daphne’s lips before rolling to the side.

“Wanna cum on my tits?” Pansy smirked up at Harry, the question sparking a light in Daphne’s eyes at the same time.

He crawled up onto the bed, his knees on either side of Pansy’s torso, as Daphne smoothly stood and circled around behind him, pressing herself into his back.

“Yesss,” the blonde whispered in his ear, as her hand snaked around to grasp his member, immediately starting to stroke him with deft, graceful motions, “ _I_ want you to cum on her tits. I love it. I love that you two are always so willing to play along with my kinks.”

 _Fuck, not like it’s much of a sacrifice,_ Harry thought, as he groaned in lieu of providing a more eloquent response.

“Please, Harry,” Pansy begged, the devilish smirk on her face entirely ruining the ‘innocent’ tone of voice she was performing, to say nothing of the way she cupped her own tits together, jiggling them for Harry’s benefit.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Daphne watched over his shoulder, the pace of her strokes increasing.

_Okay, not only for my benefit._

He surrendered himself to Daphne’s ministrations, leaning back against her, feeling her breasts press into his back. If nothing else ( _and each of them has **lots** to offer on top of that)_, his girlfriends were very skilled at sex, and the way Daphne stroked his cock perfectly met every preference of how he liked to be treated.

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching his own climax, shooting three intense spurts of cum over Pansy’s chest, even splashing up onto her lips.

“Mmm,” Pansy made a show out of licking her lips, pursing them together in a glamorous kiss to the air, “good boy.”

Daphne, fulfilling the kink she’d mentioned earlier, swept down to Pansy, running her tongue lazily up Pansy’s abdomen before _lavishing_ attention to her tits, groping and squeezing them even as she licked Harry’s cum off their girlfriend.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that,” Harry chuckled, flopping down beside Pansy on his back.

“You’d better not,” Pansy teased, “or else I’ll have to get _really_ kinky to keep you on your toes.”

“That sounds _awful,_ ” Daphne joked, crawling up Pansy’s body to plant a soft _smooch_ on her lips before rolling to the other side, “I can’t possibly imagine.”

“I figure you already _are_ imagining it,” Harry smirked, leaning his head into Daphne’s hand when she reached across to ruffle his hair, “Merlin knows that I am.”

“Well, if the two of you keep being so good,” Pansy wrapped her arms around their necks in a quick hug, “I suppose that I can be _inventive_.”

“Can’t wait,” Harry chuckled, turning off the lights.

* * *

Daphne

_Hello Daphne,_

_My apologies for the short notice, but this is an opportunity which only recently arose. I had discussed your impressive sculpture displayed at the Winter Solstice Gala with a friend of mine, and he in turn has expressed great interest in showcasing some of your artwork in the upcoming opening of the spring exhibit at his gallery – “Frame and Stroke”, if you have heard of it._

_I understand that you also work with painting, and if this would be something of interest to you, then Mr. Higgs has already requested six paintings of yours to display. The date of opening is the seventh of February, which is indeed shortly upcoming._

_Please reply with your decision as promptly as you are able._

_Sincerely,_

_Miss Narcissa Black_

The letter surprised Daphne, as she’d had no reason to expect that her recent _display_ had attracted the attention of anyone in the actual Wizarding art world. While her opinion remained that Magical culture had a long way to go in order to catch up with the achievements of Muggle artists, everyone who knew _anything_ about art was well aware of “Frame and Stroke”.

“That was Narcissa’s owl,” Pansy muttered around a mouthful of toast, “what’s she got to say?”

“Extending an offer,” Daphne explained, sitting back down at the breakfast table, “apparently I’ve caught the attention of a gallery proprietor, he wants to display some paintings of mine…”

“Daph!” Harry cheered, “that’s fantastic!”

“Which gallery?” Pansy quirked an eyebrow in interest.

“Well, uh,” Daphne wet her lips with her tongue, “Frame and Stroke.”

Pansy let an impressed whistle loose, before taking a lazy sip of her coffee. 

“That good?” Harry asked.

“Pretty big deal,” Pansy replied, “basically the cutting edge so far as the Wizarding world goes. Did you have a chance to speak to Bertie Higgs at the gala?”

“Can’t say I remember the name,” Harry shrugged.

“Minor house, generally vaguely sort-of-reformist,” Pansy waved her hand in the air as she explained, “his younger brother is the owner of this gallery.”

“Yes, I’m just…” Daphne frowned, “I’m not sure if I’ll make it. He wants six paintings to display, I’ve got three _finished_ right now, and of those, maybe two that would be worth showing?”

“So?” it was now Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow, apparently, “how long until you’ve got to have them done?”

“Barely over a month,” Daphne sighed, “it’d be tough to line up, and I’d be busy most days.”

“You should do it,” Pansy didn’t _order_ Daphne to, but neither did her tone of voice sound like she’d listen to any of Daphne’s worries about this chance.

“But I… what if it isn’t good enough?”

“My sweet, you got a word-of-mouth invitation based on _one_ of your pieces,” Pansy shrugged, unconcerned, “you’ll blow them away.”

“Can’t say I’m much of an art critic,” Harry interjected, “but for what it’s worth, I think you’re a brilliant artist too.”

“And you aren’t worried that I won’t be able to see you two as much?”

“I’ve got loads on my plate right now anyways,” Pansy drained her coffee, then stood to walk over to Daphne, draping herself over her girlfriend in an easy sort of embrace, “I’ll be pretty busy at the shop, and Mister Lord Potter-Black the Magnificent over there,” Harry stuck his tongue out in response to Pansy’s teasing, “has a lot of _scheming_ he’ll have to be up to.”

“Well… if you two don’t mind.”

“I’d worry more if you _didn’t_ take this chance because of us, for some reason,” Harry reassured her, “we support each other and all that, yeah?”

“Besides, this is much more productive than Harry’s usual pursuits,” Pansy smirked, “and we still encourage him to run about blowing things up and duelling Pureblood Lords.”

Harry stood from the table in turn, crossing over to join Pansy in hugging the seated Daphne, though he took the time to pinch Pansy’s arse as he joined his girlfriends. Of course, Pansy only giggled and smirked even _harder_ in response.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do it,” Daphne decided, forcing the bubbling worries of _“what if you aren’t actually talented”_ or _“this ‘art’ hobby of yours is suited well enough as a diversion, but you cannot seriously think of pursuing it beyond a pass-time”_ from her mind.

It was much easier to do so with two pairs of arms wrapped around her, Harry and Pansy both resting their chins gently against her in their strange embrace which just _worked_ , somehow.

* * *

Harry

Harry felt _distinctly_ like he was being ambushed, sitting in Hermione’s flat, a tea cup shakily making its way to his lips as he paused to try and understand what he was being told.

“I, er, uh, what?” he spoke, eloquently as ever.

“It’s pretty simple, Harry,” Sue chuckled, “I imagine you’ve been on a date or two before, yeah?”

“But, uh,” Harry scratched at the back of his neck, only barely managing not to spill his tea as he wriggled uncomfortably, “isn’t that going a bit far for this whole _scheme_?”

“Well, it would be rather unconvincing if you proclaimed your intent to court Susan,” Hermione explained, and Harry did _not_ care for the smirk on his friend’s face, “and then proceeded _not_ to do so. We’re trying to build a story with this, and stories usually have _characters,_ I’m afraid.”

“Am I so unappealing that you don’t wish to be seen with me,” Sue batted her eyelashes as she spoke in a sugary-sweet voice, before snorting another laugh, “ _darling?_ ”

“I get it,” Harry grumbled, “I made pants of the whole thing, you don’t have to keep pointing it out.”

“Hah, mate,” Sue returned to her normal speech, “I’m just messing with you. Don’t worry, I know this is all for show, I’m not exactly gonna be heartbroken if our _whirlwind romance_ doesn’t lead anywhere.”

“You know I hate being in the papers,” Harry pleaded to Hermione, who was entirely unsympathetic.

“Yes, of course, but unfortunately,” Hermione was beginning a _lecture_ , he just knew it, “your _celebrity_ status also happens to convey a useful advantage to our cause, being that you are _the_ most prominent Lord in our faction.”

“Can’t you get Draco to do something?” Harry whined, “he’s a Lord too, yeah?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Sue continued to laugh at his misfortune, “I’ve seen you go toe-to-toe with some real nasty sorts who were trying to kill you, I’m sure you can handle having dinner with me a few times, you prat.”

“Most of them weren’t half as intimidating as Lady Susan Bones,” Harry teased her in return, but Sue just beamed a grin in response.

“Well, we’re going to need every advantage we can find,” Hermione produced one of her many notebooks, flipping through the pages before laying it on the table in front of her, “by my best estimates, from what Daphne, Pansy, and Susan have told me, we’re currently outvoted by a fairly significant margin.”

Harry grimaced as he scanned the pages, counting the estimated votes for and against Cyrus’s bill. While the gap didn’t seem _insurmountable,_ by Hermione’s calculations, they’d have to somehow find a way to sway at least half a dozen different Lords and Ladies to their side in order to stand a chance.

“There’s a little squiggle here, beside Lord Carrow,” Harry noticed, “what’s that?”

“He’s of uncertain loyalties,” Hermione explained.

“Eh, Artaxes is a pretty good chap,” Sue shrugged, interjecting, “sure, he was the first Lord I duelled, but I get the impression he wanted to test me out more than anything. He’s the sort that likes to follow rules _because_ they’re rules, but I get the impression that he doesn’t give a rat’s arse if someone’s Pureblood, Noble, or any of that.”

Harry turned a cheeky grin to Hermione, mouthing “rules will be rules” under his breath, which was met with a huffed sigh and his friend rolling her eyes at him.

“The main point is that we simply don’t have the numbers to turn this into a ‘you’re with us or against us’ issue,” Hermione continued, “we need to play this deftly, rather than simply trying to battle Cyrus at every turn, we might need to go along with him at times so that we can push things towards a _better_ result.”

“Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows…” Sue spoke, nodding to herself sagely.

“That a quote?”

“Yeah,” she smirked, “ _Art of War_.”

“Thought coursing rivers were supposed to be swift,” Harry quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, aren’t you mysterious as the dark side of the moon.”

“What are you two on about?” Hermione frowned.

“Mister,” Sue stood up, crossing the table to place her arm on Harry’s shoulder, as she spoke seriously, “I’ll make a Pureblood man out of you.”

“Are you two quoting _Disney films_!?” Hermione harrumphed, crossing her arms, “this _is_ somewhat serious, you know.”

Sue and Harry descended into laughter together, as Hermione continued to fume.

“Yeah, I get it, but a bit of levity helps,” Harry grinned, realizing how _funny_ it was that this trio - a Muggleborn witch, a “Half-Blood” who found herself in charge of an ancient ( _Most Ancient, actually)_ House, and himself (functionally raised in the Muggle world) - were setting about playing the game of Pure-blooded politics.

“Want the summary?” Sue asked.

“ _Merlin,_ please.”

“Alright,” Sue flopped back into her seat, counting points out on her fingers, “so, Mister Romantic over there all-but-declared that he’s courting me as a wife to one of his two lines,” Harry rolled his eyes, “which actually makes it seem like the fact that I invited his girlfriend to the gala under my ticket was a clever little ploy.”

 _Right, yeah, got it so far,_ he thought. 

“So we play up that whole angle, make it look like Harry’s over the moon for me,” Sue took a moment to pose with her hands folded under her chin, “and because I am just _such_ a good little Pureblood woman, subtly imply that I’ve been dutifully seeking out candidates for his second wife, rather than, y’know, dating women.”

“Yup, following along.”

“So, your _actual_ relationship with Daph is hidden from the public,” Sue continued, “while we pretend that we’re cautiously courting her. Not a sure thing, but enough mutual interest that people’ll think it’s going somewhere.”

“Okay, yeah, but what’s the _point_ of that?”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed, “even though they tend towards pig-headed stubbornness, not even Pureblood families can hold grudges forever. Cyrus publicly distanced himself from Daphne, it’s true, but if she returns to prominence as a potential _wife_ of yours, alongside Susan’s existing reputation for being politically savvy…”

“Old Cyrus won’t be able to speak against you much publicly,” Sue grinned, “it’d make him look foolish if he publicly endangered a maybe-betrothal between his House and fuckin’ _Lord Potter-Black,_ so he’ll be limited in how much he can actually argue against us.”

“Right, but we’re already worried we don’t have the votes…” Harry wasn’t quite getting it.

“That’s the whole point of this scheme, Harry,” Hermione shook her head, “we’re not going _against_ Cyrus, we’re making it look like you and him are _allies_ in all this, ones who just happen to disagree on some of the fine print.”

“Oh,” Harry got it now, “I hate it.”

Sue broke out into another loud laugh as Hermione made a frustrated “eurgh” noise, before Harry decided to stop tormenting her and joined in laughter.

“Really, I _do_ hate it, it’s not fair to you, Sue,” he explained, “but it makes sense. I’m just glad that my blunder actually worked out for us, somehow.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it up to me,” Sue winked at him, continuing her act.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll owe you a whole _bar’s_ worth of drinks by the time this is over.”

“Or you could loan Daphne to me,” Sue waggled her eyebrows.

 _Well… maybe that could happen, if Pansy and I were okay with it? No,_ he chastised himself for thinking in that direction, _definitely not the time to imply that._

“I suppose I should be glad that you two find this so amusing,” Hermione sighed, “at least this sort of rapport will make our story easier to believe.”

Harry decided not to worry about it for now. Sure, he enjoyed Sue’s company quite a bit, and they’d already spent many a night getting drunk together, but taking her on a fake _date_ seemed like another matter entirely. _If she’s fine with it despite not even being into blokes,_ he rationalized, _I guess I don’t have much room to complain._

* * *

Daphne

Daphne found herself metaphorically beating her head against a wall.

In the two weeks since she’d accepted the offer from Mr. Higgs (by way of Narcissa Black), she’d been exceedingly productive, having finished an entirely new piece (a reflected landscape with – in her own opinion – a bold take on colour schemes) and nearly finished a fourth painting.

The _fifth,_ meanwhile, was a stumbling block that she seemed unable to hurdle: as clear as the image was in her mind, her attempts at conveying this to canvas had tended to fail at the first efforts. The concept she had in her head – _“Throne_ ”, as a working title – was of a faceless, ambiguous, but _male_ figure, posed in such a way that it would be hard to tell whether he was sitting down or if he _was_ the seat, while a similarly-ambiguous _female_ figured sprawled across the titular “throne”.

In her sketches, it seemed that every time she started drawing a rough version of the male figure that really served as the _point_ of the piece, something went awry. The first attempts had come off as musclebound and _large_ in a way that didn’t even seem possible, while the next had seemed like little more than a stick-figure stretched out to become a chair.

 _“Chair” really isn’t the impression I’m aiming for here,_ she sighed.

The message she intended to convey was a simple one – if likely to be controversial in traditional society – that while men may serve as the symbols of authority among Purebloods, _women_ wielded their own power as well. To properly show this meaning, she wanted to depict a male figure that was _strong_ , _powerful_ in its own way, but not _dominant._

She _literally_ smacked her head with her palm as soon as the words crossed her thoughts. It wasn’t exactly difficult to figure out that she had partially-exclusive access to the _perfect_ model for this kind of figure.

 _“Hey, Harry?”_ she wrote in her enchanted notebook, _“if you’re free, could you swing by my flat? Need a favour! Love you.”_

The words of affection came easily, and she smiled in a self-satisfied way, proud of herself both for realizing the way past her current painter’s block _and_ for somehow managing to find herself in such an… _incredible_ relationship.

 _“Right, yeah,”_ the response came shortly after, _“I’ll be by in ten. Love you too.”_

She set about staging the area, dragging tables away in one moment, transfiguring one of her kitchen chairs to serve as a suitable prop in the next. When Harry arrived through her Floo, she rushed to meet him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and excitedly explaining the realization she’d come to.

“Okay, sure,” Harry kissed her briefly, “you want me to be a model for you? Of course!”

“Great!” Daphne beamed a grin, “so strip, and go have a seat!”

“Er,” Harry hesitated, “a nude model, then?”

“Of course,” she smirked as she pulled him in for another kiss, before slapping his bottom as a means of saying “hurry up”.

She brought out her easel, attaching a sheet of black sketching paper to it and snatching up several pieces of coloured chalk.

“So, er, how should I sit?” Harry fidgeted, in the middle of undressing.

“Sit like a King,” Daphne kept her instructions vague by intent, “however that feels to you.”

Harry awkwardly did so, posing himself in an almost-certainly unintentional recreation of _The Thinker_ instead. Rather than looking regal or powerful, he came off as “vaguely worried”.

“So, you never told me,” she decided to ply subtler means of manipulating him into place than simply pulling his arms and legs where she wanted, “what exactly led to you slaying that dragon?”

“Oh, uh,” Harry squirmed, but at least he didn’t fuss with his hair, “You remember how I traveled the continent for a while, yeah? I was in Bulgaria, visiting Viktor, when the Romanian Court reached out to me through him.”

“Interesting! Why’s that?”

“Well, they were having a spot of dragon trouble, yeah?” Harry chuckled awkwardly, “apparently the dragon responsible had a bit of a legend around it, something about being ‘slayed by the man of portents’, or however that goes in Romanian.”

“And that meant you?”

“Anyone who had a prophecy about them, really,” Harry shrugged, but when he sat back in the chair, his body language was more open, less tense, “I imagine there’s probably a few hundred ‘chosen ones’ running around Europe at any point, by that metric.”

“Still, that sounds impressive to me, being sought out for your _destiny_. Are the Romanian Lords like ours?”

“Oh, uh,” Harry’s previous relaxation vanished for a moment, before it spread over him again, “well, they put me in contact with the one who had actually ordered the dragon-slaying, and, er,” he grinned awkwardly, “no, not like our Purebloods at all, him.”

“Him?”

“The King of the Dragon Court,” Harry explained.

Daphne racked her brain at the same time as she started making preliminary lines on her sketch paper. Harry now looked _strong_ in the way she was seeking to capture, but not exactly _powerful_ in the same way she imagined.

When her memories connected the title with the appropriate figure, the piece of chalk snapped in her fingers.

“You met with _Lord Dracula_?” Daphne felt like, somehow, this _shouldn’t_ have surprised her, with how ridiculous Harry’s life was, and yet it was absolutely not what she had expected.

“Met is a strong term,” Harry chuckled nervously, “he told me where the dragon’s lair was, demanded I slay it, and promised to reward me once I had done so, and then dismissed me.”

“So, uh, your dragonhide armour?”

“Yeahhh,” Harry smiled awkwardly, slouching into his seat now, idly crossing a leg as he did, “crafted by one of Dracula’s armourers. Hard to do better than that, I figure.”

“Hmm,” Daphne had an idea, “and your compact is… complete? What if he calls on you again? Maybe takes a personal interest?”

_There!_

The challenge to Harry caused a moment where he _hardened_ in some inscrutable way, sitting forward slightly, his posture simply _changing_ as he became the exact image of the kind of _power_ she wished to capture.

“The deal was fulfilled,” Harry answered, his voice as strong as iron, “he won’t call on me again.”

“Harry, stay _just_ like that,” Daphne ordered, her chalk flying over the paper.

“Oh, uh, okay,” he immediately reverted to his usual tone, but thankfully retained his commanding pose. The lines practically drew themselves on her page, so easy was it for Daphne to finally draw the idea she’d been wrestling with.

“Okay, that’s perfect!” she announced cheerfully, “thanks so much, love.”

“Heh, just glad to help,” Harry shrugged, “anything else you need?”

With the surge of energy she felt from overcoming this problem, a particular _need_ had certainly reasserted itself.

While Harry was still seated, before he could dress himself, she crossed over to the “throne”, leaning down to kiss him _thoroughly,_ her hands tracing over his bare chest as their tongues danced together.

“Mmm,” Daphne moaned, “let me show my appreciation.”

She peppered kisses down his abdomen, taking note (as an artist) of the way his muscles flexed and layered over top of each other, and (as _Daphne_ ) of the dusting of goosebumps that had sprung up along his legs.

He wasn’t quite _hard_ when she took his member into her mouth, but he wasn’t far off. Daphne enjoyed feeling him grow stiff against her tongue, hollowing her cheeks and circling her lips as she sucked at the head of his cock.

She pulled back with a _pop_ as her lips left his manhood, only to immediately dive back in, flattening her tongue along the underside of his cock, sliding him deeper and deeper until she felt his blunt tip prodding against the back of her mouth. As she drew breath through her nostrils, she relaxed those muscles, pushing her head even further forwards, taking him into her throat in slow, steady progress.

“Fuck, Daph,” he groaned above her, as she slid him back out of her mouth, stroking his now-slick member with both her hands as she paused for breath, “that’s _really_ good.”

“Mm,” she licked up from the base of his cock to his head, luxuriating in the way that he twitched in her hands, “stand up.”

As Harry did so, Daphne practically tore her own shirt and bra off, leaving her skirt on, but hurriedly pulling her panties off and throwing them aside.

Harry closed the distance between them, bringing her into a heated kiss, his hands pulling her skirt up over her torso and exposing her own sex. With the closeness of their embrace, his cock slid between her legs, its length pressing up against her pussy, the heat and _hardness_ of it practically driving her wild.

“Fuck me,” Daphne commanded, and Harry chuckled wryly as he reached between them to try and guide his cock inside of her.

“Bit tricky, this position,” he commented, their similar heights proving to be _just_ close enough to the correct angle. While Daphne certainly enjoyed feeling him sliding against her, she wanted him _inside._ She lifted one of her legs, wrapping it around Harry’s back, one of his coarse hands supporting the underside of her thigh as the other _finally_ aimed his cock accurately, pushing into her slowly.

“Yessss,” Daphne hissed in contentment, feeling the now-familiar stretch as Harry finally thrust the entirety of his length inside her.

“Hmm,” Harry murmured into her ear, “I wanna try something. Give me your other leg?”

“How do you mean?” Daphne was quite content in this position, standing face-to-face with Harry, one of her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Like this,” was all that he explained, before his other hand gripped the leg she was standing on, and she found herself lifted into the air, her arms wrapping behind Harry’s neck for support.

“Fuck,” she breathed, “I _like this_.”

Daphne was rarely self-conscious of her height, but she’d definitely come to understand during her time with Harry and (more specifically) Pansy that certain positions were made easier when one partner was larger than the other. It wasn’t frequent in their dynamic that she’d wind up “topping” Pansy, but when she _did,_ Daphne certainly enjoyed physically controlling her petite girlfriend.

She hadn’t really mulled over the possibility of having it done to _her_ in detail before this moment, so Daphne simply hadn’t expected Harry to be so _easily_ capable of lifting her up like this. As he began to thrust into her, his hips moving forcefully enough to _clap_ off her arse even as he carried her, she immediately realized that she _very much_ liked being (quite literally) man-handled.

“Harry,” she whined, “fuck me against the wall. Please? Can you do that for me?”

The coquettish act clearly worked as she desired, as he easily ( _Merlin, fuck_ ) carried her across the room, all the while his cock remained sheathed in her. By the time he pushed her back against the wall, she was already practically at her first climax, and it took no more than a few strong thrusts to get her the rest of the way there.

“You _do_ like this, don’t you?” Harry chuckled, slowing his pace to rock against her instead.

“Fuck, I had no idea,” Daphne giggled, “don’t slow down on my account.”

He kissed her fiercely as his hips began to move with purpose once again, and Daphne lost herself in a haze of pleasure. Once more, she was grateful that she was _so easy_ to get off, as her second orgasm of the night already started building behind the first. _Maybe you two are just that good,_ she mused, as Harry’s thrusts began to grow erratic.

“I’m close,” she whispered to him, clinging even tighter against his body, “cum in me, Harry.”

“Fuck, yes,” Harry groaned, hilting himself even deeper than before (somehow), and when Daphne felt his cock twitch inside of her, it was the final stimulation she needed to meet _his_ climax with her own.

“Damn,” Harry chuckled mirthfully, “if that’s how you reward your assistants, I’ll have to do some more modeling for you in the future.”

“Oh, hush,” Daphne giggled, as he lowered her to stand on her own (shaky) legs once again, “only the ones I really like.”

“Should I bring Pansy along next time, then?”

“Please, the two of you would just start shagging each other instead of modeling.”

“Yeah, and you’d like to watch,” Harry cracked a grin.

“I would,” she leaned in to kiss him again, “thank you. You helped more than you know.”

“I’m glad, you’re doing great, you know!”

“We’ll see about that, but I appreciate it.”

“You getting back to work?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Daphne sighed, “I’ll be able to spend more time with you two soon, but until this is finished… my schedule is tight.”

“Not a problem,” Harry kissed the top of her head, before awkwardly hopping back into his pants, “seriously, it’s not a worry. We know this is important to you, so we support it.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, “I love you two, you know?”

“We love you too,” Harry pulled her in for a quick hug, before turning to depart, “I’d better get an early night anyways, so don’t you mind me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” his grin was wild when he disappeared into the flames of the Floo, “I’m taking Pans flying tomorrow.”

* * *

Pansy

Despite the cold, grey, gloomy skies, Pansy was absolutely _thrilled_.

She held the broomstick that Harry had got her for Christmas in both hands, idly running her fingers over the glossy surface.

“Right, so it’s got the full suite of usual comfort charms and all that, but _this_ model has some pretty wicked acceleration charms built in,” Harry explained, a gleam in his eye, “they don’t play super well with the stabilization runes, though, so mind the corners, it’s easier than you’d think to blow a turn.”

“Of course,” Pansy answered, swinging one of her legs over the broom, “keep in mind, Harry, I haven’t flown a broom in, oh, at least a decade by now.”

 _“Flying a broomstick is not a ladylike pursuit,”_ she recalled the words. _Apparently, neither was watching Quidditch, or doing better in Potions than the boy that you were oh-so-certainly supposed to marry._

True, Draco was a deft hand at Potions by his own ability alone, but the Parkinson family was _known_ for their potion-crafting, and that had been reduced to nothing but one of the _many_ traits of herself that her parents had insisted she smother for _their_ sake.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll handle it,” Harry chuckled, “and I’ll be right behind you, yeah?”

“You sure will,” she drawled, patting the broomstick behind her, “hop on, Potter.”

“Er?”

Pansy rolled her eyes, though she felt a sly smile form on her lips at the same time.

“While I am absolutely _thrilled_ that you got me a high-powered, experimental broom,” she told him, “and _also_ thrilled that you just assume I can handle it, a girl’s got to be realistic sometimes. I haven’t flown in too long to trust myself not to crash into your damn roof.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“Besides,” Pansy purred, as Harry hopped on the broom behind her, pulling her in close as he reached over to grip the head of the broomstick, “I’ll _reward_ you if you teach me.”

She whooped in glee as they lurched into the air, the take-off becoming smoother and more refined as Harry – presumably – also re-acquainted himself with flying. Pansy quickly reached up to pull her flying goggles over her eyes, before they suddenly took to the _sky_ in an exhilarating rush.

Some may have characterized her laughter as “cackling”, but whatever the phrase, Pansy started crying out in mirth as soon as Harry began to take them through long, winding loops, practically _shrieking_ in joy when he flew a tight corkscrew, the world whirling around them.

_Fuck, I’ve missed this feeling._

Harry’s skills as a flier had apparently held up quite well over the years, bringing to mind the memories of all the times that she’d booed and jeered at him as he nearly-singlehandedly dismantled the Slytherin Quidditch team.

_Look at me now._

Circling through the air over 12 Grimmauld Place, Pansy’s heart _thumped_ in her ears loud enough to hear it over the rush of wind in her face, the excitement of sheer _speed_ something that few other sensations lived up to.

She was almost disappointed when, after what felt like seconds, Harry brought them to a stop, lingering in the air above his house.

“You having fun?” Harry murmured over her shoulder.

She _absolutely_ was, but also began to realize that they’d been flying for longer than she’d kept track of, the chill in the air having begun to seep through her thick sweater and into her skin. Pansy chose to press her hips backwards, wiggling her arse against Harry’s groin.

“I’m absolutely, completely chuffed,” Pansy answered, “but I think we should get inside. I want to ride a _different_ broomstick now.”

“Heh,” Harry chuckled into her ear, “that was _awful_ , Pans. I love it.”

He brought them down into the backyard, and Pansy felt herself stagger when she attempted to walk, the pull of gravity having apparently become unfamiliar to her from their brief flight.

 _Absolutely going to do this again,_ she thought.

Inside, Harry disappeared to the kitchen while she ensconced herself on his couch, returning with two mugs of cocoa. _With a healthy pour of whiskey, too_ , she smiled, happily sipping on the warm beverage. The pair simply sat in silence for a few minutes, comfortable in each other’s’ presence, letting the heat return to their bodies.

_Right, I’m probably warmed up enough._

Without words, she turned to Harry, setting her mug down on the table. As he did the same, she gently guided him backwards, until he was laying on his back and she straddled his hips.

“That was brilliant,” she told him, rubbing her hands on either side of the face, giggling as she saw him flinch at the touch of her still-cool fingertips. Pansy leaned down, capturing his lips in hers, a gentle, slow kiss compared to her usual approach.

Harry’s hands ran slowly along her thighs, coming to rest on her arse and giving her a firm squeeze as they continued to kiss, their tongues gently pressing against each other at a relaxed pace. She trailed her hand down his chest, bringing it to linger over his groin, where – when she gave an exploratory grope – she found him already hard under his fitness trousers.

 _I made those for him,_ she amused herself with the thought, _so I might as well take them off._

Running her fingers under his waistband, she slowly began to peel the stretchy trousers and his underpants down at once, lifting her hips to allow him to raise his own to aid the process. She felt a thrilling, surprising cool touch as his own hands – still a bit chilly – found their way under _her_ pants, pulling them over her hips, down her thighs.

She extended her legs, helping him to disrobe her, as she pulled her chunky, warm sweater off, tossing it to the end of the couch. Harry stared up at her with lust in his eyes, his gaze locked to her breasts. _You see my tits more days than you don’t,_ she giggled, _and you still can’t control yourself every time you see me naked. I love it._

Pansy leaned down to kiss him once more, reaching between them to line his cock up with her entrance. Though she usually enjoyed at least _some_ kind of foreplay, on this occasion, she was more than ready even after a few moments of kissing.

“Mmm,” she murmured contentedly as he slid inside her. She lowered her hips slowly, savouring the feeling of him filling her, his hands gently wrapped around the tops of her thighs. When their hips met and his cock was fully inside her, Pansy began to slowly roll her hips back and forth, the languid pace so unlike her usual preferences.

She shivered, but didn’t stop her motions, when he ran one of his cool hands up her torso, coming to rest on her breast, gently cupping her sensitive flesh. With the lingering chill on their skin, her nipples stood out hard from her tits, the glittering silver of her piercings pleasing even to _Pansy’s_ own eyes.

Smirking, she leaned forward to kiss Harry once again, changing the angle of their hips so that she could begin to slowly lift and drop herself on top of him, maintaining her slow, almost _lazy_ pace all the while. One of his hands repositioned from her thigh to wrap around her arse, and she cooed in pleasure as he squeezed her.

Planting a hand on his chest for leverage, Pansy straightened once more, finally beginning to increase the pace she was riding him, letting small “ah” and “ooh” sounds escape her lips as she felt herself stretch around his cock, glad that he was on the same page on which she found herself in this moment.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Harry breathed, and she felt a blush spread through her goosebump-covered skin. 

“You’re _really_ good looking,” she praised him, ramping up the motion of her hips a bit more, a shudder running through her as Harry’s cock ground against a particularly sensitive spot in her cunt. When she pitched forward against his chest, taking his face between her hands again, pressing a needy kiss to his lips, he stepped in effortlessly to take over the pace, rolling his hips in a sinuous motion that plunged him _deep_ even though he wasn’t thrusting hard.

She looked him in the eyes as she broke, her climax _exploding_ through her, making her legs twitch around his hips. The fire she saw in his eyes, perhaps, contributed just as much to the intensity of this orgasm as did his (in her opinion) _perfect_ cock.

“I’m close,” Harry murmured.

“Good,” she smirked, kissing him again, and beginning to bounce up and down in his lap. True to his word, he didn’t last long, and she felt a secondary aftershock of her first orgasm trace its way up her spine when he came inside her.

“Mmm,” she hummed her own contentment.

She considered herself fairly experienced in sex: while there was certainly a _long_ list of things she still wanted to try with Daphne and Harry, the fact of the matter was that Pansy had fucked her fair share of people, had slept with a few, had shagged others; whatever the euphemism was, she’d probably done it.

Pansy was not convinced that, until the last couple weeks, she’d ever _made love_ before, but she was coming to find that she _might_ have somewhat of a taste for it.

When Harry wordlessly summoned a heavy blanket from across the room, draping it over both of them as she cuddled into his chest, all she could do was sigh happily as she felt a post-sex nap overtaking them.

 _I think I still prefer it a bit hard and rough,_ she hazily thought, _but I could get used to this, I suppose._

* * *

Pansy was _significantly_ less content a few days later, fuming as she stomped around the back room at _Serpentine_. She’d been trying for hours to get a particularly tricky little waterproofing charm working correctly, but even her latest attempts had ended in _ignoble_ failure.

The aim was to design a lady’s parasol, all delicate black lace, which would nevertheless stand up to the worst elements. True, a simple waterproofing charm applied to someone’s own person served much the same function, but it wasn’t _stylish_ in the way she was picturing.

Her current effort, which merely collected water in an ungainly pool above the parasol, would serve to do nothing but transform its user from “elegant and haunting figure in the rain” to “drowned rat” as soon as they closed the parasol and dumped several buckets of water over their head.

 _“I need help.”_ she penned a message into her notebook, _“Could either of you deliver some whisky? Maybe help with a charm?”_

After a few moments, Daphne’s reply came through.

“ _Yeah, I need to get away for a bit anyways. I’ll bring a drink! Harry, you free?”_

 _“Sorry, wrapped up in a report, you two have fun!”_ her boyfriend’s answer came.

Not that seeing her _girlfriend_ instead was any kind of disappointment; indeed, it might be a good chance to spend some time one-on-one, considering how busy both she and Daphne had been of late.

Sure enough, Pansy’s frustration lifted the instant that Daphne walked through the doors into the back of _Serpentine,_ a bottle of firewhisky in her hand, and a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, sweet,” Pansy greeted her, hopping off a table to give Daph a quick hug and kiss, “thanks for popping by. Driving myself absolutely fucking mental, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” Daphne just continued to smile easily, her persistent ability to be _unbothered_ by frustrations something that Pansy envied.

“Yeah, I’m trying to make a stupid magical umbrella,” Pansy gestured to the latest failed parasol experiment as she hopped back up onto her desk, “but I can’t get the waterproofing charms right. Either it leaks through the holes in the lace, or the charm catches water _too_ well, makes a fucking swimming pool above your head.”

“Hmm,” Daphne crossed the room to inspect the object, twirling it in her hands, tapping a couple parts with her wand, “I’ve got an idea, if you’d like?”

“ _Please_ ,” Pansy was _not_ too proud to accept Daphne’s help.

“Okay, I think what you want is an impermeability charm _combined_ with a permeation charm. I know that sounds contradictory, but what it should do is absorb into the lace, here, but water should slide off of it, rather than getting caught in the effective radius of a waterproofing charm…”

“Fuck, you’re brilliant,” Pansy complimented her girlfriend, feeling a surge of pride at the way Daphne beamed under her praise, “I never would’ve thought of that. It’s a good thing one of us three has some brains, yeah?”

“Hush, you,” Daphne _tsked_ , “you’re absolutely sharp as a tack, I haven’t half the eye for fashion that you do, let alone designing it all.”

“Well, everyone has their talents, I suppose.”

“Right, for example… Harry’s very intelligent when it comes to…”

“Ensnaring Slytherin women?”

“I was going to say practical magic, the man’s actually come up with some pretty impressive purpose-built charms,” Daphne smirked, “but he _does_ have a way with that, doesn’t he?”

“Perish the thought,” Pansy chuckled, “you got time for a drink?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Daphne uncorked the bottle, “I should get back in an hour or so, but you know how you can’t force creativity, of course.”

“Naturally,” Pansy smirked as Daphne walked closer to pass her the bottle of whisky, the way that her girlfriend pressed against her _surely_ just a coincidence, and _certainly_ not that the blonde witch was feeling a bit lonely due to her recent business.

 _Merlin, I remember giving Harry a whole speech about not getting too attached or having_ feelings _about any of this,_ she recalled, shaking her head at her own foolishness, _look at us now._

“You’re a brilliant assistant,” Pansy took a healthy swig of firewhisky, before turning to set the bottle down beside herself. When she turned back to Daphne, who remained standing beside Pansy (seated on her desk), she noticed a corresponding _fire_ in her girlfriend’s eyes.

“Well, you need someone to cover for your lackluster charms, don’t you?”

_Oh, it’s like this, is it?_

“Oh, you’ve got a sharp tongue,” Pansy chided, running her hand up Daphne’s back delicately, “pity it isn’t being put to better use.”

When her hand reached Daphne’s long blonde hair, currently tied into a ponytail, her grip _tightened,_ pulling Daphne’s head back sharply.

“I’ve got no idea what you mean, _Miss Parkinson_ ,” Daphne gasped, “but as you said, we all have our talents. I’m sure you have yours.”

Pansy leaned in to bite at the side of Daphne’s neck, only for her girlfriend to gasp, saying “you can’t”. Even though this wasn’t one of their safewords, Pansy still paused, a brief moment of hesitation stopping her.

“You can’t,” Daphne repeated, “I’m your assistant, and you’re my boss, Miss Parkinson…”

 _Fuck, you just keep getting better at pushing my buttons,_ Pansy thought, a vicious grin spilling over her features, as she lunged back towards Daphne’s neck, biting her delicate flesh hard enough that it was _sure_ to leave a reminder for the blonde.

“That’s right, Miss Greengrass,” Pansy practically hissed, “I’m your boss, which means I’m in charge here. Kneel.”

“P-pardon?” Daphne asked, her eyes wide, affecting a shocked look even though Pansy caught the way she rubbed her thighs together.

“On your knees,” Pansy brought her hand down on Daphne’s arse – _hard_ – as a means of encouragement, “ **now**.”

Daphne hurried to obey, looking up at Pansy with her gorgeous blue eyes, trying her _hardest_ to look afraid of what Pansy might do to her. Just as she was sure her girlfriend wanted, Pansy swung her legs apart, keeping one hand tightly gripped in Daphne’s hair while the other frantically worked to pull her own panties off.

“Lick.” Pansy commanded, and Daphne made a show out of shaking her head from side to side, an over-exaggerated “ _oh noooo”_ gesture.

_You’re fucking perfect, sweet._

Pansy dragged her girlfriend’s head between her legs roughly, trapping her there by clenching her thighs around the blonde’s head, sighing happily when – despite the earlier act – Daphne began to eagerly lap at her pussy, her talented tongue tracing up between Pansy’s lips to circle around her clit.

“Now, if you have any talent at _all_ ,” Pansy drawled, “it certainly isn’t in eating pussy. I said _lick_!”

She punctuated the command with a thrust of her hips, and, when she noticed the shudder that ran through Daphne when she did so, began to roughly saw her pussy back and forth over Daphne’s face, doing her absolute best to _face-fuck_ her girlfriend.

“That’s better, Miss Greengrass,” Pansy tried to remain imperious in her tone, though she knew her voice was hitching under Daphne’s _eager_ attention.

“Ffffuck,” Pansy hissed as she reached climax more quickly than she’d anticipated, her legs – still wrapped around Daphne’s head – quivering and twitching.

“I trust that was to your liking, Miss?” Daphne smirked as she rose from between Pansy’s legs.

“Ah,” Pansy attempted to sneer, but couldn’t fight off a quick grin, “I see you require further discipline, for this insubordination.”

She reached over to grab at Daphne once again, pleased that the blonde _pretended_ to struggle, while subtly going along exactly with Pansy’s attempt to restrain her. She brought her girlfriend over her knee, Daphne’s _spectacular_ arse thrust into the air. When Pansy peeled Daphne’s own skirt up, she noticed that her girlfriend wasn’t wearing underwear, the sight of which sent a whole new thrill through her.

_Fuck, I love how easily we land on the same page._

“Since you were _impertinent_ towards me six times, by my measure, this means you’ll receive eighteen spankings. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Daphne answered, obediently.

“Yes…?”

“Yes, Miss Parkinson,” Daphne sobbed, but a giggle worked its way into her acted “sorrow” nonetheless.

_I fucking love you, Daph._

Pansy didn’t let her mushy feelings get in the way of the scenario they were acting out: bringing her hand down _hard_ on Daphne’s left arse cheek, then repeating the action on the right. For a brief time, she amused herself by watching Daph’s arse quiver under her hand, the fifth, sixth, and seventh spanks being closer to “polite taps” than anything else, but made up for it by putting genuine _force_ behind the last three blows.

“You understand your role better now, I take it?”

“Yes, Miss Parkinson,” Daphne’s voice quivered in a way that couldn’t _all_ be acting, though not in a way that represented _pain_ , “thank you, Miss Parkinson.”

“Good girl,” Pansy cooed, as she ran her hand gently over Daphne’s red cheeks, before reaching between her legs without warning, and thrusting her middle two fingers inside Daphne’s sex.

 _Merlin_.

Her girlfriend was absolutely _drenched,_ so Pansy added a third finger just as quickly, roughly plunging her digits into Daphne’s needy cunt, stroking along her girlfriend’s g-spot with every vicious thrust. It took _seconds_ for Daphne to cum, moaning wantonly as she raised her arse into the air, her pussy _clenching_ around Pansy’s fingers.

The pair took a moment to catch their breaths, Daphne remaining sprawled over Pansy’s lap, before she popped back to her feet, a wide grin on her face.

“Fuck, you caught on _fast,_ babe,” Daphne was positively _giddy_ following her orgasm.

“You’re a minx,” Pansy teased, kissing her girlfriend gently, “got yourself a bit worked up, hey?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Daphne giggled airily, “with all I have to do all day being painting, I’ve got _so much time_ to think about what I want you to do to me. What I want Harry to do to me. To you. You know what I mean.”

“Of course,” Pansy interrupted Daphne’s disjointed rambling with another kiss, “and I want to do _everything_ you dream up.”

“We’re going to have a wild February, at this rate.”

“I sure hope so,” Pansy closed her arms around Daphne, hugging her tight, “I _love_ your imagination. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Daphne cuddled closer, as the two women rode out the last of their afterglows together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord did this get out of hand in a hurry
> 
> This chapter is the first "bonus" chapter which came as a result of my recent decision to extend this particular installment, which led to the following:
> 
> * More fluff! I wanted to show more of the trio immediately after they first exchanged those big words
> 
> * More smut! I can't get too far from the basics of this fic ;)
> 
> * Plot hints! Are they even noticeable in the middle of a smut and fluff fest? Who knows!
> 
> This chapter wound up getting a bit out of hand because it's basically an epilogue, a breather chapter, and an intro to the next installment (about ~1/4 of which is being transplanted into _this_ ) all at once. Don't expect future chapters to be hitting the 10k mark :P
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Getting reviews, reactions, questions, and critiques really helps me dial in on what I want to show in this fic!


	15. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne's artwork is displayed at the opening of a gallery, and intriguing new possibilities present themselves

Daphne

The week leading up to the seasonal opening of _Frame and Stroke_ had been one of the busiest of Daphne’s adult life, but she had – somehow – managed to finish her requisite six paintings, with time to spare, at that.

Her partners, of course, had enthusiastically held a pre-celebration for her, and many of the last few nights had been among the _busiest_ of their relationship so far, in an extremely different way than her professional occupation.

 _Perhaps not_ all _that different, really,_ she pondered, standing with a glass of champagne in her hand, looking at the centrepiece of her small exhibit. The sixth painting was the largest that she had completed to date, an abstract oil piece that she’d titled “ _Trine_ ”.

While Daphne was not an egotistical woman, she had to admit that the piece might well be her greatest achievement as an artist to date, one that (in her own opinion) stood by itself _and_ managed to tie the rest of her pieces together into a coherent theme. Other paintings such as “ _drowning_ ” or _“Throne_ ” carried a heavy, somber mood, _“winter_ ” was bleak but also bright, and “ _Thirst_ ” conveyed a distinctly _sexual_ impression in its suggestive, yet indistinct figures.

 _“Trine_ ” managed to hit all of those notes and more, a complicated assembly of vaguely triangular geometric figures, each painted in three colours. Daphne thought that it gave the impression of a human figure, but the spaces _between_ the geometric shapes caught the eye in their own way, almost suggesting the existence of a transient _something_ that couldn’t be described by sight alone.

Daphne wasn’t blind to the fact that she had also put a lot of _herself_ into this final painting, realizing after it was completed that the triangular shapes and general mood of the piece were both heavily reminiscent of her relationship with Harry and Pansy: something that had seemed to become more than the sum of its parts.

Neither was she unaware of the fact that her paintings were generating _interest_ from the guests at the gallery opening. She’d had the chance to speak about some of the themes and concepts that went into her work (the personal relevance remained a secret, of course) with a number of fashionably-dressed wizards and witches, and the gallery owner himself (Mr. Higgs was dressed less on the “fashionable” side and closer to the “eccentric” part of the spectrum) had informed her that one curious party was a well-regarded _art critic_.

With a drink in her hand, the steady thrum of the music that Mr. Higgs had playing flowing over her, Daphne felt _satisfied_ (without any reservations, even), which had been an awfully elusive state for her in the previous couple of years.

She heard a click of heels behind her, and stopped her introspection to glance in the direction of the latest visitor to her little section of _Frame and Stroke_. As was a common-enough occurrence in her generation of witches and wizards, she recognized this guest, though she wouldn’t say that she _knew_ the woman.

There had been a couple times when she and Padma Patil had been paired together for assignments in Runes, back at Hogwarts, and while they’d worked well enough together in a competent, academic way, Daphne would hardly have said she’d ever _befriended_ the Ravenclaw.

 _Then again,_ she recalled, _other than Stori, Tracey, and kind-of sort-of Theo, I wasn’t really friends with much of anyone back then._

This had been one of the unexpected benefits to her relationship with Harry and Pansy: as much as she was still somewhat unused to the idea, Daphne had made _friends_ through her partners. She semi-frequently met with Hermione for tea (even when they _weren’t_ scheming about Harry’s upcoming role in the political arena), and found that the bushy-haired woman’s intellect was actually _more_ staggering than her infuriating (at the time) stranglehold over the top marks in any class they’d shared had given her reason to suspect.

While it would be unkind to say, at a somewhat less _cerebral_ level, she also found that she enjoyed Gregory’s company now that he’d finally shaken off the horrific views that he’d previously held. Daphne still found his particular relationship dynamics somewhat unsettling if she were to be honest with herself, but his surprising depth of knowledge in the subject of Magical Beasts was, she supposed, only fitting for someone who was his girlfriend’s “pet”.

Padma Patil’s name had come up a time or two in conversation with Hermione, and from what Daphne understood, Padma had been undertaking some sort of international research for the last couple years, studying a sort of magical anthropology by attempting to learn spells and different methods of working magic from other cultures across the globe.

Even at Hogwarts it had been apparent that the Patil twins were rather different from each other (most obviously, being sorted into different Houses would imply that), but Daphne realized that these differences had only become more noticeable with time; from what she’d seen of Parvati at different parties over the years, Daphne couldn’t picture her thoughtfully studying artwork, nor did she think that Padma was the type of woman who would find herself thrown out of a _number_ of pubs for being caught shagging Seamus Finnigan in a dark corner.

So too had the twin sisters become _physically_ distinct over the years. Where Parvati was slender with the suggestion of a slight “hourglass” to her figure, Padma seemed to have matured into a figure that could only be described as “curvy”, only emphasized by the _generously_ plunging neckline of her magenta dress.

Daphne couldn’t help but engage in her habit of trying to take the measure of someone at a glace; even though she was very well aware that appearances could be deceiving, she still found it _interesting_ somehow to try and gauge people in this manner.

She noticed that Padma wore an obviously enchanted pair of glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, the lenses whirling and glowing at times in a way that could only indicate that their purpose was not to correct her vision. Padma’s bared arms were heavily tattooed from the wrists to elbows, swirling mixtures of script that appeared to be a blend of henna markings, mundane ink tattoos, and slowly shifting magical counterparts.

If Daphne had to guess, she suspected that the numerous pieces of gold jewelry Padma had were charmed in some fashion or another, which _could_ have left an impression of an extremely academic personality, someone who had immersed their very _self_ into runes and spellwork. This observation, however, would fail to account for the streaks of magenta dye in Padma’s dark hair (matching her dress), as well as the nose ring which was _unlikely_ to be a magical trinket.

All things taken together, Padma certainly seemed an _interesting_ sort of person, a particularly striking example of a “modern witch” who blended Muggle culture with Wizarding conventions together; Daphne noted (with a pleased smirk to herself) that this was _exactly_ the sort of crowd that she hoped to draw to her artwork.

When Padma turned towards her, pulling her spectacles off as she did, Daphne made sure to replace her smirk with a cool, politely-welcoming expression, not wanting to send the wrong _sort_ of impression with her glances in Padma’s direction, after all.

“Hello, Daphne,” Padma greeted her, “it’s been quite a number of years, hasn’t it?”

“It certainly has,” Daphne replied, noticing a steady _calm_ behind the other woman’s voice (even if her timbre was on the higher end of the scale), “how have you been?”

“I’ve been well, thank you!” Padma turned back towards _“Trine_ ”, gesturing at the piece, “it certainly seems that you’ve become quite accomplished as well, this is quite a bit more advanced than those old assignments we’d worked on back in the day.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Daphne accepted the compliment, though she failed to see the connection to studying runes, “I’ve been fortunate enough to expand my skillset somewhat since then.”

“I’d certainly say so,” Padma raised her spectacles to her eyes one more, before turning back to Daphne with a sly-looking smirk, “ _eikomancy_ is quite a rare practice, especially here, after all.”

“Pardon?” Daphne’s confusion was steadily growing.

“Magic expressed through image and impressions, rather than symbols or words. You _are_ aware that your artwork is magical in the literal sense of the word, right?”

Daphne sure _hadn’t_ been aware of this. She felt a brief stab of insecurity, wondering if her efforts to produce her art through her own hands alone had been in vain after all.

“I hadn’t intended it to be,” Daphne sipped her champagne, trying to measure her response, “I paint by non-magical methods, after all.”

“Ah, sorry,” Padma made a small conciliatory gesture with her hands, “I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t an accomplished artist. It’s actually the completely opposite way around, not using magic to create an image on the canvas, but rather using the imagery that you crafted to shape _magic_.”

“To be honest, I’m unfamiliar with that field,” Daphne felt _slightly_ reassured by the clarification, “are you saying that I accidentally charmed my artwork?”

“Mm, not quite. Here,” Padma pressed her spectacles into Daphne’s palm, then went so far as to begin guiding Daphne’s hands towards her face.

Intrigued, Daphne slipped the charmed eyewear on, and _almost_ let out a sob of surprise at what she saw. With whatever charms Padma had applied to the glasses, Daphne now saw that her paintings were surrounded by vague _auras_ of different colours and shapes, with _“Trine_ ” in particular being surrounded by an intricate, silvery-golden lattice of light.

“This type of magic predates the development of charms, as it happens,” Padma began to explain, ever the academic, “not that this means it is _primitive_ by any means, rather that it relies more on emotions and _feeling_ rather than commands or intent.”

Daphne reluctantly pulled the glasses off of her face, the sight having somehow managed to completely flip her earlier insecurity on its head: from what she had seen, it almost looked as if she had somehow created artwork on two planes at once. Strangely, her older pieces had only dim, hazy auras, the effect seemed to be more obvious with her more recent paintings.

“To be honest with you, I’d stopped by here tonight simply out of curiosity, but now I am _extremely_ glad that I did. I’ve never had a chance to witness this sort of magic before,” Padma smiled, nodding her head towards _“Trine_ ” for emphasis.

“What does it _do_?” Daphne was somewhat astonished still, “I suppose it’s not quite a proper ritual, correct?”

“Naturally, you’re quite right,” Padma nodded, as Daphne felt her _academic_ interests being roused, “it’s not a precise correspondence, being that it’s a less precise sort of magic in itself, but if I had to make a comparison, I’d say that this work,” once again, gesturing to the centrepiece, “is closer to a rite of hearth, something along the lines of protective magic.”

The fact that the painting which was closest to Daphne’s heart represented “home” in a manner of speaking did not escape her notice.

“This one,” Padma continued, gesturing towards _“Throne”_ this time, “looks to be a bit more on-the-nose for the subject matter, it seems to carry some sort of authoritative effect. Nothing so overt as a compulsion charm might be, but part of the same lineage. Of course, _this_ piece,” she now pointed at _“Thirst”,_ “is a _lively_ sort of magic. Sexuality and creation are _intimately_ linked, after all, but this sort of application might produce subtle healing effects past the obvious link to fertility rites.”

 _Fuck, that makes a bit too much sense_ , Daphne thought. After all, she’d painted _that_ one while she’d been particularly occupied by reminiscing about some of the more memorable nights with Harry and Pansy.

_Speak of the devils..._

A loud outburst of laughter drew her attention momentarily, where she quickly spotted her partners standing in front of a different exhibit, evidently in the middle of exchanging some sort of barbs with each other. While the trio couldn’t be public about their relationship in this setting, it _was_ the sort of event that all three of them would be likely to attend independently, so apparently her boyfriend and girlfriend hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of continuing their _long-running_ tradition of mocking each other at parties.

When Daphne returned her attention to Padma, she noticed that the other witch was _also_ looking in that direction, and felt the briefest moment of concern that the intelligent former Ravenclaw had seen right through the trio’s deception as quickly as she’d managed to unravel the secrets of Daphne’s artwork.

“Once again, this is utterly fascinating,” Padma spoke, a vaguely uncertain note in her voice, “but I’m afraid I’ve actually got to run, my sister’s expecting me tonight.”

Before departing, Padma pressed a printed card into Daphne’s hand, a clever little development in charms that allowed people to connect with each other through various magical communication devices.

“Let’s continue this conversation, shall we?” Padma inquired, “Perhaps over a drink or two?”

“Perhaps,” Daphne agreed, “I’ll let you know!”

“Cheers,” Padma turned to depart, “good seeing you, Daphne.”

 _Well, that was surprisingly revelatory,_ Daphne pondered, still trying to puzzle out what exactly it _meant_ that she had – apparently – been practicing a rare and ancient form of magic without even realizing it.

While it seemed that Padma’s expertise had grown vastly beyond her own, Daphne was no slouch when it came to magical theory, and she wondered if it might have to do with the deepening bond between Harry, herself, and Pansy. Though Daphne hadn’t noticed any mysterious magic present in Pansy’s clothing designs that _wasn’t_ intentionally crafted through charms placed on the items, it was certainly true that both women were creative sorts. _Perhaps some aspect of Pansy’s magic is spilling over into mine?_ Daphne pondered.

 _I’d be surprised if it’s Harry’s magic at play,_ Daphne smirked against her glass of champagne as the man in question began to approach her, _my paintings haven’t fought anybody that I’m aware of._

“Good evening, Miss Greengrass!” Harry announced himself, quite literally, “I must admit, rarely have I witnessed such a beautiful sight!”

“You’re too kind, Lord Potter-Black,” Daphne easily slipped into the role they’d planned out, “I hadn’t known that you were an appreciator of the arts.”

“Oh, right,” Harry grinned widely, “your paintings are _also_ quite beautiful, I suppose.”

Daphne didn’t even have to pretend to be flattered by this unexpected compliment. Despite how much she enjoyed it, however, she noticed something about Harry that _strongly_ tempted her to roll her eyes at him.

While he obviously wasn’t _drunk,_ he was also very clearly not _sober_ , and if she had her guess right, she suspected that the flask he’d surreptitiously taken a swig from was full of firewhisky cut with Libation of Loquaciousness. It was a common-enough additive to magical drinks, inspiring a cheerful, outgoing mood in its consumers, but it came with a _severe_ side effect.

This sort of potion caused those who imbibed it to gravitate towards _wordplay_ and **_puns_** , which Harry needed _absolutely_ no further encouragement towards.

“You flatter me, my Lord,” Daphne couldn’t help but smile, slightly-exasperated though she might be, “do any of these paintings particularly catch your fancy?”

“Oh, I certainly suspect that you can guess which of these _seven_ pieces of art is my favourite,” Harry flirted, “the drapery surrounding this particular masterpiece is pleasing in its own right, but I can hardly tear my eyes from the central attraction. Truly, a divine foundation.”

_None of the paintings have background drapery… oh **Merlin** , Harry, laying it on a little bit thick, love._

Of course, Harry had just told her that while he liked her outfit, he preferred to look at her arse.

“I trust you’ve been enjoying yourself, my Lord,” Daphne stepped closer to him, extending her hand to his, allowing him to lift it to his lips to press a perfectly-proper kiss against her knuckles, “but I am rather afraid that I do have other guests to converse with, this evening.”

“But of course, Miss Greengrass,” Harry smirked at her, and she felt her cheeks heat up at the mischief mixed with attraction in his gaze, “I will have to occupy your time another night, I suppose.”

“Maybe you shall,” Daphne just _barely_ managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes as Harry dramatically bowed while making his exit, “good evening.”

“Good evening,” he replied, before practically _scampering_ off to another part of the gallery.

 _Fuck, if I know Pansy, she’s been matching Harry drink-for-drink, which means that she’ll_ also _be all exuberant,_ Daphne realized with a very “relationship”-specific sort of dread, _I’m going to go home later and walk right into the middle of one of their pun wars._

Despite her frequent protests at being made to witness these contests, she couldn’t wait.

* * *

The scene she arrived to back at 12 Grimmauld Place was certainly _surprising,_ but whether it was a good surprise or a… _Pansy and Harry_ sort of surprise, Daphne wasn’t quite sure.

Her two partners had a shared look that was somewhere between bashful and proud of themselves, and that was _all_ that they were wearing. Both were completely naked, and covered in what looked like streaks of paint.

“We got _inspired_ by you,” Pansy drawled, “figured we’d try our own hands at painting, yeah?”

“’Course,” Harry continued, grinning lopsidedly, “we’ve nowhere near the talent for it that you do, so we started with finger-painting…”

Daphne finally let herself react naturally, laughing happily at the sight of the two. In a way, she had to admit that the pair had _some_ kind of talent; Harry was covered in whirls of black and red made by Pansy’s hand, making him look suitably _fierce_ in the way that their girlfriend so enjoyed, while Pansy’s features were traced with green lines all over her body, managing to make her look _sharper_ in a way that she knew caught Harry’s eye.

“Well, it seems like I’ve got some catching up to do,” Daphne cheerfully decided, unzipping her own dress and stepping free of it, pleased with the way that both of her partners’ gazes immediately latched on to her body, “who’s got a drink for me?”

The next hours passed easily, and were _thoroughly_ amusing, her partners deciding that they both wanted to try their hands at “painting” her, drawing over her nude form with the simple colouring charms summoned at their fingertips.

While the attention was certainly intimate, it didn’t even fall into any outright _sexual_ acts (for the most part; both Harry and Pansy certainly spent more time drawing shapes on her arse than any other area of her body), the trio spending the late hours of the night simply enjoying this kind of closeness to each other.

“Apparently, I’m even better than I thought,” Daphne smirked, as their conversation eventually wound its way to the gallery opening, “I learned tonight that I’ve been making _magic_ paintings, it seems.”

“Told you that you were brilliant,” Harry stroked the outside of her thigh, “magical how? I didn’t see any of the paintings moving, I don’t think.”

“That’s because your eyes were otherwise occupied,” Pansy teased, “can’t say I blame you, though.”

“Oh, I actually wound up speaking to Padma Patil,” Daphne explained, giggling, “she’s been studying different forms of magic, I guess? Turns out that I’ve been practicing icono… ekonomo… _eikomancy_ ,” she finally found the word – Daphne had made a solid effort to catch up to her partners in drinks, and _might_ have wound up overshooting them in doing so – before continuing, “which is an unstructured, emotional sort of magic.”

“That’s amazing!” Harry grinned widely, “I’ve no idea what that means, of course, but you always impress me, Daph,” he took a swig of his own drink, “hadn’t even realized Padma was back in town,” he observed casually.

“It sounds like she’s visiting,” Daphne answered, unsurprised that Harry was friends with the former “D.A.” member, “though she invited me to…”

A realization struck Daphne.

“Fuck,” she restarted, “I just realized that I think she was hitting on me.”

“Oh?” Pansy had an odd look in her eye, like a cat that caught the canary.

“Yeah, _shite_ ,” Daphne cursed, “she wanted to meet with me to keep talking about the magic painting thing, but I didn’t even notice that it was _over drinks._ She left in a hurry, I guess that might be why it flew over my head.”

“Why’s that?” Harry had a _similar_ look in his eye, for some reason.

“I’ve no idea,” she admitted, “actually, it was right after the two of you had a particularly _rambunctious_ outburst, it seemed like she caught sight of that and ran off.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pansy started.

“Ah, right,” Harry’s words came at the same time.

“It’s probably because I shagged her once,” Pansy confidently stated.

“We, uh, slept together a while back,” Harry much _less_ confidently provided.

There was a moment of silence, before Harry and Pansy turned to each other, their eyes wide, then they broke into _uproarious_ laughter.

“You’ve _both_ had sex with her!?” Daphne supposed she shouldn’t be _too_ surprised, both of her partners had somewhat more adventurous pasts than her own.

Harry and Pansy, instead of answering with words, chose to _high-five_ each other instead, continuing to practically roll around in laughter.

Daphne couldn’t help but join them in their mirth, deciding that any potential _implications_ of this revelation could wait for the next day.

* * *

Of course, when the next day rolled around, Daphne was rather hoping that they’d managed to forget about that conversation, entirely unsure of how to navigate the topic.

 _Am I jealous of them?_ she wondered, before dismissing the thought. The past was the past, after all, and while she could easily admit that Padma was a very attractive woman, Daphne felt far too secure in their relationship to worry that either Harry or Pansy would throw what they had aside in order to pursue her.

 _Are they going to go at each other because they just learned they share a previous lover?_ This, too, seemed unlikely. The pair seemed to be _ecstatic_ at the discovery instead of any more complicated feeling.

She settled for nestling further into the couch, sipping her mug of tea, hoping that the whole thing would just blow over.

“Soooo,” Pansy appeared with a coffee, perching beside Daphne, the eager look on her face dashing Daphne’s hopes, “ _Padma Patil_ was trying to pick you up, hey?”

“It appears so,” Daphne shrugged, “obviously, it’s not a problem.”

“So, are you gonna accept her invite?” Pansy leaned in, the look in her eyes the exact _opposite_ of ‘jealous’, ‘worried’, or ‘uncertain’.

“I, um,” Daphne honestly wasn’t sure how to answer, “I wasn’t planning on it?”

Harry appeared, his own coffee in hand, but when Daphne looked to him for an escape, he simply smiled easily at her, settling in at the other end of the couch beside Pansy.

“Why not?” Pansy, as much as her bluntness could be endearing, threw Daphne off-balance with the question.

“Because I’m in a _relationship_?” the answer seemed self-evident to Daphne.

“Yeahhh,” Pansy smirked, “a partially- _open_ relationship, you recall?”

_Oh. That **was** , in fact, a specifically-agreed-to aspect of their dynamic._

“Fuck, I hadn’t really thought of it,” Daphne tapped her fingers alongside the edge of her tea mug, “I don’t know?”

“Take it easy on her, Pans,” Harry chuckled, and their girlfriend rolled her eyes, but nevertheless slouched back on the couch rather than looming increasingly closer to Daphne.

“Of course, my sweet, there’s no pressure,” Pansy shrugged easily, “if you’re not interested, then that’s perfectly fine! I just thought it seemed like a uniquely well-suited opportunity to take that whole thing for a test run.”

“Elaborate on that?”

“Well, you remember our conditions, right?” Pansy, to her credit, had certainly backed off from sounding like she was trying to convince Daphne of anything, “it has to be someone that all three of us are interested in, and, well, apparently Harry and myself have _both_ fulfilled that interest before.”

“She’s not really the relationship type,” Harry shrugged, “when I was, uh, involved with her, it was a strictly casual thing, and it ended cleanly, no hard feelings from me or anything like that.”

“Same here,” Pansy admitted, “so it seems like if you _were_ interested, it would be a neat little no-strings situation.”

“Hmm,” Daphne couldn’t decide. True, Padma was very attractive, and Daphne had _definitely_ enjoyed the short, intense conversation that they’d shared, but the way that she’d missed the further implications in the heat of the moment still left her feeling unbalanced, “I’m really not too sure. We’re doing absolutely _great_ as-is, this is the happiest I’ve ever been, I don’t want to risk that, you know?”

“Harry,” Pansy interjected, “if you imagine Daph hooking up with Padma, how does it make you feel?”

“Er,” Harry took a moment to consider his response, “kind of… happy, I guess? It doesn’t make me feel jealous or anything, I guess that I’d be content knowing you were having fun? Hypothetically, of course.”

“Right, and I think it’s pretty obvious,” Pansy smiled, a hint of bashfulness crossing her expression, “that I’m considerably more _enthusiastic_ about the idea than that. Really, again, I don’t want this to sound pushy, but, well, I’m _fairly_ sure that this might be a kink of mine.”

“How so?” Daphne thought she had an idea, but wanted to be absolutely clear on it.

“Well, uh,” Pansy was uncharacteristically hesitant, “you’re fucking gorgeous, you know? You are too, in your own way, Harry,” their boyfriend smirked, raising an eyebrow in response, “and imagining you with someone _else_ that I think is pretty fucking attractive? Well, I think I _like_ that idea. A lot.”

“Padma _does_ have fantastic tits,” Harry interjected, his smirk growing more devilish at the looks of surprise on his girlfriend’s faces, "I know that you're a _big fan_ of breasts."

 _He’s not usually the one to be bold about these things,_ Daphne knew, _so if he’s being this forward, he **must** be okay with the idea._

“She _does_ ,” Pansy muttered in agreement, “look, I don’t know if this makes sense of it, but let me put it this way, Daph, what do you think you’d do if you were single and this same situation came up?”

“I think I’d,” Daphne paused, taking the time to fairly consider the possibility, “I think I’d probably go for it, honestly.”

“That’s what this is really about for me, I think,” Pansy mumbled a bit, still not _great_ at expressing vulnerability, “this relationship we have, it’s fucking amazing, no doubt about that, but I don’t want it to be something that _limits_ us, right? I know it seems contradictory, but it feels _more_ secure to me, somehow, if the three of us can enjoy other people, **if** that’s what we all want.”

“Pansy,” Harry spoke softly, “you’re _never_ contradictory.”

“Oh, hush, you lummox,” she swatted at his arm, but giggled as she did so, “does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Daphne admitted, “it’s just… actually _doing_ it is different than agreeing to the idea in principle, yeah?”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, “same for me, really. Honestly, I think it’s what Pansy said earlier,” he shrugged, “since Pans and I have both slept with Padma, and now she’s expressed interest in you… it almost seems _more_ fair to me if you have your own experience, however that makes sense.”

Daphne had to admit that her earlier worries felt less substantial by this point, and she certainly wasn’t turned _off_ by the idea, but it was still all so surprising to her.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Daphne finally decided, “then we’ll talk again?”

“Absolutely,” Pansy leaned in to embrace her, “and I love you just as much no matter what you decide.”

“Same for me,” Harry reached over Pansy to stroke Daphne’s hair, “we love you, Daph, that’s not changing.”

The quiet confidence in his voice helped to reassure the last of her lingering concerns, and for the moment, Daphne simply leaned in to her partners’ affection, thoroughly enjoying the unshakable _truth_ they’d both had in their voices when they’d said they loved her.

“I love you both,” she spoke, just as certain of her own words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another twist!
> 
> I'm not sure how well this will be received considering how some other ~possibilities~ have received much more build up to this point in the story, but this was an intentional choice! 
> 
> Some of the factors that Pansy and Harry brought up - particularly that Padma _isn't_ sticking around London long-term - are ones that made her feel like a bit more of an organic possibility for the trio possibly dipping their toes into the "semi-open" nature of their relationship. 
> 
> Reviews, reactions, criticisms, and suggestions are, as always, all welcome!
> 
> Finally, for any of my readers who are fans of the My Hero Academia series, I've also started another fic that combines the Harry Potter and MHA settings - one that's much more light-hearted than this, with no romance/relationships angle to the story, that I'm mostly just writing for my own amusement! I figured I'd mention this just in case anyone else finds the concept as entertaining as I do :P


	16. After-Hours (Harry/Pansy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Pansy spend some quality time together during a night in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning** : This chapter deals with some roleplay surrounding a dubious consent scenario - it's from Pansy's perspective so it's clear that she is in fact *enthusiastically* consenting, but anyone sensitive to this kind of content may wish to avoid the first section of this chapter.
> 
> This warning aside, this chapter is smut, then fluff, with some small bits of character development

Pansy

She stretched out on the couch, thumbing through a spring/summer lookbook from Vivienne Westwood. While the magical world almost certainly wasn’t ready for some of the edgier outfits that her muggle contemporaries had come up with, Pansy still felt that it was productive to look for inspiration in these designers’ material.

Pansy peered over the edge of the magazine-like publication to look at Harry, who sat at the other end of the couch, his reading material (some sort of report from the Aurors’ office) much less interesting – in her opinion, at least – than her own.

“Hey,” she spoke, catching his attention.

“Mmh?” Harry murmured a reply, turning his eyes to her as he stopped absent-mindedly tapping his pen against his lips.

“Soooo,” Pansy scooched down the couch, planting her legs over Harry’s lap, where he idly began to run his thumb in circles over her calf, “how’re you feeling?”

“Fine?” Harry tossed his report to the table, leaning back into the couch, “you?”

At this moment, Daphne was on a maybe-date with Padma Patil, their girlfriend having eventually decided that she’d take the former Ravenclaw up on her possible advances. Pansy found the possibility absolutely _thrilling_ , but she was still somewhat unclear on what, precisely, Harry felt about it.

“Oh, I’m doing quite well,” Pansy drawled, rubbing her leg against Harry’s hand and enjoying the feel of his touch, “like I said, I find the whole idea of Daphne being out on a date to be particularly _interesting_ , yeah?”

“Heh,” Harry smirked at her, “that so?”

“ _Absolutely_ ,” Pansy replied, cooing as Harry began to actively massage her calf, “but I’m still a bit unsure how you’re feeling, y’know?”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he shrugged easily, “like you said, Padma seems like a good fit to test out the whole ‘maybe sleeping with other women’ thing, I guess? I hope Daph has fun, however that goes for her.”

“You don’t find it _interesting_?” Pansy teased, drawing her other leg over Harry’s lap, “you aren’t picturing our girl shagging another beautiful witch right now?”

“I, uh,” Harry tensed when Pansy’s leg brushed over his groin, the beginnings of a flush appearing on his neck, “I hadn’t really been picturing it much, but I am now, I suppose?”

“Oh?” Pansy knew that she had him now, “what are you picturing? _Exactly?”_

“Well, er,” Harry licked his lips, “Padma’s pretty gorgeous, yeah, and of course both Daphne and you are _incredible_ , so, uh, I guess it’d be pretty hot to watch them together?”

 _Sometimes, Potter, you’ve no imagination at all,_ Pansy teased her boyfriend in her thoughts, _I guess I’ll have to see what I can_ inspire _for you…_

“Did you know?” Pansy drawled, “I was Padma’s first woman? Even for a beginner, I’d have to say, she caught on pretty quick.”

“That so?” Harry swallowed, “I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that you’d slept with her too, but, uh, yeah, she’s a fun time.”

“When did you have _fun_ with her?” Pansy was honestly curious, her boyfriend typically fairly tight-lipped about his previous love life.

“A few years ago,” Harry answered, “before I left for Europe, a little while after Gin and I broke up. You?”

“Oh, you got her first,” Pansy teased, “I shagged her a couple of years back, in Milan, actually.”

“How’d that happen?”

“No, no, no,” Pansy gave her boyfriend a positively predatory grin, “you tell me your story first.”

He did so, outlining the way that he and Padma had initially begun spending time together to perform sort of magical healing for his sake, which later blossomed into a considerably more _intimate_ sort of care. Pansy was tempted to scoff at a few points in Harry’s story, where she recognized that the brunette witch had _obviously_ been putting the moves on him, which Harry seemed ignorant of even today.

 _Is it really so surprising to you that you might be desirable?_ She wondered.

Nevertheless, Harry’s story had been _hot_ , and thanks to her own experiences with Padma Patil, Pansy found that she could clearly picture the scenes he described, the imagined sights sparking a familiar heat between her legs.

“What about you?” Harry asked huskily, and Pansy smirked as she obliged his request.

Her and Padma had wound up hooking up out of circumstance more than anything that could have been foreseen ahead of time; a mistake with a reservation at a hotel, a common interest in certain forms of art, and a bottle of firewhisky had led to Pansy providing Padma her first (and second, and third, and so on) lesbian experience. Apparently, such an occasion had _not_ been a one-time exploration of Padma's sexuality, given that, years later, Pansy’s own _girlfriend_ was on a date with the woman.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned as her tale reached its conclusion, “I think I see what you mean about picturing you with other women.”

“I wonder if we _shared_ anyone else without knowing it,” she ran the sole of her free foot over Harry’s trousers with _purpose_ this time, smirking to herself as she felt his cock beginning to swell under her touch, “after all, you have quite an interesting history, I imagine…”

“Um, yeah, I don’t know about that,” Harry’s reply was flustered, clearly struggling to handle both the heated conversation topic and her actions at the same time, “like I said, I, er, didn’t really have the most active love life back at Hogwarts or anything.”

“Oh, me neither,” Pansy admitted, “I _really_ should’ve fucked you back then. But I think we both made up for it after the fact, didn’t we?” she couldn’t help but giggle at Harry’s _enthusiastic_ nods in response, before she continued her line of questioning, “who else are notches on your belt that might be on mine, I wonder?”

“Uhh,” the interjection, usually limited to when Harry felt awkward, came out halfway to a groan, especially when she pressed her toes against the side of his cock, “Romilda Vane? That was a mistake, but I guess she might be the adventurous sort?”

“Can’t say I recognize the name,” Pansy admitted, pulling her other leg free from Harry’s hands so that she could run both her feet around his (now fully-hard) member, “what was so _adventurous_?”

This topic of conversation wound up fulfilling two (similar) purposes for Pansy: first, it was clearly getting Harry hot and bothered even more than their earlier exchange of stories, but secondly, it was _definitely_ confirming her recently-discovered kink. Pansy was realizing that, without a doubt, imagining her partners fucking other attractive women _absolutely_ got her own motor running.

“She was, ah,” Harry groaned as Pansy sat up, drawing her fingers teasingly over the tent in his trousers, “bit of a fan-girl, more into the whole ‘Man-Who-Won’ idea than me, really, but she was _very_ insistent that she wanted to give me a blowjob to express this admiration…”

“Ooh,” Pansy teased, unzipping Harry’s fly and pulling his cock – still covered by his underwear – through the opening, “was she any good?”

“More enthusiastic than talented, really,” Harry hissed his reply, especially as Pansy flopped back to her previous position, now teasing his cock with her feet with one fewer layer in between, “I was worried she was going to choke herself unconscious at some points.”

“That sounds _fun_ ,” Pansy had to admit that her own voice was hitching at points, the heat between her legs beginning to grow nearly _unbearable._

“Uhhh,” Harry didn’t even try to disguise his groan, “Katie Bell?”

“The chaser?”

“Yeahhh,” Harry leaned back with his arms behind his head, pushing his hips into Pansy’s feet of his own accord, “we had a bit of a thing going before she moved away, totally casual and all, but it was… a lot of fun. I know she was dating a girl for a bit last year, and there can’t be _that_ many witches who might be on both our lists.”

 _You’d be surprised…_ Pansy thought. While not exactly a topic for “polite conversation”, it was a barely-hidden secret of Pureblood society that it was surprisingly common for witches to be attracted to both women and men. Pansy’s own ventures into Muggle society had revealed that the proportion of bisexual (or other similar labels) witches seemed to be much greater than women in the non-magical world, for reasons she couldn’t begin to guess at.

“Mmm,” Pansy moved so that Harry’s cock was trapped between the soles of her feet, her legs spread wide open in a positively lewd fashion, judging from the way that Harry’s gaze immediately locked on to looking up her skirt, “I haven’t had the pleasure, but she’s pretty cute, good job, you _stud._ ” Despite her teasing tone, she actually _meant_ the words, not that Harry would realize it.

Katie Bell was, _indeed_ “pretty cute” in Pansy’s estimate, despite the trio of claw marks on one side of her face. She’d been one of the more public victims of Fenrir Greyback at the Battle of Hogwarts, along with Lavender Brown, and Pansy quietly harboured suspicions that Bell’s mostly-stagnant Quidditch career was in part due to prejudices she faced from her not-quite-Werewolf status. Still, compared to the only other professional athlete that Pansy knew (Ginny Malfoy, Seeker for Holyhead), Bell’s powerful – bordering on _muscular_ – build was _much_ more interesting to look at in the games that Pansy had watched.

“Umm, yeah, you’d probably have fun with her,” Harry practically stammered his words, his face now _well_ into a blush, “she’s, uh, _super_ submissive.”

“Oh?” Pansy teased, smirking at her boyfriend’s difficulty in finding his words, “have you been holding out on me, Harry? Do you have an actual dominant streak hidden in you somewhere?”

“I, uh,” his blush doubled, probably due to embarrassment in some degree, “I’m not great at it. I’m not holding out on you, I just, you know, would rather do what you like, yeah?”

 _And if I’d “like” for you to actually let me fulfill **your** fantasies for once… _Pansy thought, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. As much as she loved Harry’s constant efforts to make sure that Daphne and her were both satisfied and happy, Pansy could admit that she actually wanted to do the same for her partners, and Harry had been stubbornly _difficult_ to extract any specific kinks or desires from.

“I see how it is,” Pansy teased, leaning up to capture his lips in hers quickly, bringing her hand down to palm his erection, before swinging her legs off the couch and beginning to walk away, “goodnight, Potter.”

_Take the hint, Harry…_

While Pansy still wanted to pull Harry’s innermost desires to the surface, this didn’t mean that she was going to be hesitant to express her _own_ fantasies, not in the slightest. She had previously discussed with Harry (while Daphne giggled and teased them both, of course) that one of her long-standing fantasies had been a scenario where Harry, as a Head Boy, had caught her in the halls of Hogwarts after dark.

It was one that couldn’t have been fulfilled in reality (for many reasons, some much more serious than others), but now that she’d somehow managed to convince Harry to become her _boyfriend_ , it was well within her reach.

However, Pansy had already decided that it wasn’t going to be something she _told_ him to do for her – this would ruin the appeal of the scenario, really – instead hoping that her various hints and references over the course of their evening so far would manage to spur him into action.

As she strode away from him, making sure that she put an extra roll in her hips, mimicking wearing heels even though she was barefoot, Harry _somewhat_ let her down.

“Pans?” he asked, “did I do something wrong?”

“It’s awfully late, Potter,” she turned over her shoulder to smirk at him, admitting that perhaps her hints may have been too subtle, “I should be getting back to the Slytherin dorms, should I not?”

She turned her gaze forwards again, hoping that _this_ obvious invitation, at least, would spur him into action.

“Well, fancy finding you here, Parkinson,” Harry’s words came at her ear, and she didn’t even have to act the thrilling shock it sent through her. She forgot just how _fast_ and silently Harry could move when he wanted to.

“Potter,” she schooled her expression to look as smug as she could manage, “some of us, in fact, have social lives. I can’t imagine that you’ve anything interesting to say, so if you would, I’d quite like to get to bed.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Harry chided her, “I’m afraid, Miss Parkinson, that it is _well_ after curfew.”

“Is that so?” Pansy smirked at him, “hmm, I’m afraid I simply don’t give a fuck.”

“I wonder…” Harry reached down to clasp her wrist, “if you’d be so smug with a week’s detention. I’m thinking Care of Magical Beasts, yeah? Since you always look like you’ve just smelled something unpleasant, it might do you some good to spend some quality time with Hagrid’s latest batch of blast-ended skrewts, give you some _real_ experience in that regard.”

“If I look disgusted,” Pansy tried to snatch her wrist from his grasp, but failed, “it’s because I so often see _disgusting_ people. Release me, Potter.”

“Or else _what_ , Parkinson?”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling,” Pansy drawled, “Head Boy or not, I’m not impressed by you. I’m not one of your little Gryffindor sluts, so why don’t you run along and bother them, and both of us will find it more enjoyable than _this._ ”

He roughly pulled her by her arm, pressing her back against the nearby wall, and she had to consciously stop herself from moaning as he did so.

“I only see one _slut_ here, Parkinson. I wonder how your _reputation_ would manage if I turned you in, coming back after midnight? That skirt certainly doesn’t look regulation-length to me…”

“Perish the thought, Potter,” Pansy’s breath was coming faster, “now, if you’d quit playing at whatever game you’re attempting, let me go. I’ve got better places to be.”

“Why?”

“Why _what_?”

“Why _should_ I let you go?” Harry leaned in to murmur the words in her ear, pressing his body against hers in doing so.

“You…” Pansy’s words hitched, before she returned to the fantasy role she was playing, “you don’t have the _balls_ , Potter. Release me.”

“ _No._ ” Harry pushed tighter against her.

“This isn’t funny,” Pansy tried her best to sound nervous, instead of _thrilled_ , “don’t go getting your little cock excited, and stop it _this instant_.”

“Little?” Harry smirked, dragging her hand to his groin, placing it on his (in reality, _substantial_ ) erection instead.

“What are you doing?” Pansy put a whine into her voice, though even in this fantasy, she couldn’t help but grip his cock over his underwear, still protruding through his open fly.

“I figure, Parkinson,” Harry hissed the words, “if you want me to let you go, you’re going to have to make it worth my while, yeah?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” she genuinely attempted to sound disgusted, “you fucking pervert. Fucking _fine_ , just make it quick.”

She fished his erection free of his underwear, and began to half-heartedly stroke his length, demonstrating precisely none of the skill she had if she were genuinely pleasuring him.

“You think you’re getting out of this with a handjob?” Harry chuckled, and his other hand came to her shoulders, pressing down on her, “if I wanted to have a wank, I’d do a better job myself. On your knees, Parkinson.”

 _Fucking finally,_ she exulted in her thoughts, as she acted as if she were struggling against his grip, before “reluctantly” dropping to her knees in front of him. While she continued to slowly stroke his cock, she made a show out of keeping her mouth closed, petulantly turning her head away when Harry attempted to guide her mouth to his throbbing member.

“Open,” Harry commanded, and Pansy shook her head in protest. He reached down, pressing on the sides of her face to force her mouth open, and actually reached into her mouth (she couldn’t help but suck at his digits momentarily, despite the scenario they were acting), pinching the tip of her tongue between his index finger and thumb and pulling it out between her lips.

“That’s better,” Harry’s own voice hitched in the middle of his words, but if he harboured any doubts about their roleplay, he thankfully didn’t let them stop his actions, gripping her hair roughly and bringing her head forward to meet the thrust of his hips.

“Fuck, it seems that you’ve got _some_ talent after all,” he imperiously stared down at her, slowly fucking her face, as Pansy couldn’t resist her urge to run her tongue around his cock, just _barely_ managing not to moan as he pumped in and out of her mouth.

When Harry began to pick up his intensity, pushing deeper and deeper into her mouth, Pansy made a show out of making gasping, choking noises, only _slightly_ failing to disguise the low groan that she made as she rubbed her thighs together absent-mindedly.

With one particularly aggressive push forward, Harry hilted himself in her throat, and she felt his length spasm, not able to prevent herself from moaning loudly around his cock as he came, this sort of rough play _exactly_ what she was hoping for when she’d told Harry about this fantasy of hers.

She gasped for breath in a way that wasn’t entirely acting when he pulled free of her mouth, staring up at him with what she _meant_ to look like “horrified defiance”, but knew probably actually looked more like “smoldering desire”.

“Fuck you,” she spat, her words slurred from the intensity of his actions, “you’ve had your fun, now let me go.”

Harry stepped back from her, raising his hands in a mockingly-placating gesture, as she rose unevenly back to her feet.

She made it all of one step before Harry came in behind her, pressing her face-first against the wall this time, his body pressed harshly against her back.

“Did you think that we’re done here?” Harry taunted her, and it took all of Pansy’s willpower not to throw him off of her and ride the _fuck_ out of him in that instant, “I didn’t recall telling you that I’m finished with you…”

“Potter,” Pansy tried to sound frightened, “what are you doing? Stop it!”

 _Don’t you dare fucking stop, Harry,_ she thought.

“I don’t think I will,” Harry leaned in to bite at her earlobe, a bit more roughly than he normally would, but _perfect_ for their roleplay.

“I’ll scream,” she whimpered.

“I rather expect you will, Parkinson,” Harry’s voice rumbled in her ear, and she pressed her arse back against him almost instinctually.

“Oh, what’s this?” Harry tried his best to keep his own voice cruel, but she still noticed a bit of his good-natured charm coming through, before he flipped her skirt up, _tearing_ her panties off her body. He ran a finger between her legs, and she didn’t bother disguising the hissed moan she made, “why, Miss Parkinson, it almost seems like you’re _enjoying_ this, doesn’t it?”

Without warning, Harry _shoved_ his length inside of her, and Pansy’s vision exploded with bursts of light as she came from this first thrust, the rough aggression was _precisely_ what she wanted from Harry in this moment. He reached under her arms to shove her own limbs up above her head, pinning them in place with a single one of his hands, the other coming to rest over her throat.

“I suppose that this _would_ be the way you’re used to being treated,” Harry ‘cruelly’ taunted her, as her moan was muffled by the way her face was pressed into the wall, “I’d expect nothing else from a Slytherin _slut_.”

He began to fuck her in earnest, and Pansy’s world melted away into pure sensation, the rough impacts of his hips against her arse bouncing her against the wall, his grip around her neck _just_ tight enough to make her head spin, his aggressive _possession_ of her body sufficient to lift her to her tip-toes as he slammed into her over and over.

Pansy honestly lost count of her orgasms by the time that Harry came inside of her, her vision filled with stars, her body feeling like it was falling apart in the _best_ way.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was soft again, all the love that he’d managed to disguise during this role-play scenario returning, “you okay?”

“Fuckin’ brilliant,” Pansy slurred, leaning back into his comforting strength, “fuck, _thank you_.”

“Heh,” Harry kissed the top of her head gently, “I’m just glad it wasn’t too rough. I know you didn’t use your safeword, but I still got worried at a couple points there.”

“Hush,” she muttered, half-heartedly slapping his shoulder, “fucking… _wow_. Yes. Great.”

“Aren’t you eloquent.”

“Shut up, you,” she giggled, “mmm. Let’s have a bath.”

“That sounds great,” Harry admitted, only caught slightly off-balance when Pansy sagged into him even further.

“You’re gonna have to carry me,” she commanded, “you’ve made my legs go all jelly.”

“Perish the thought,” Harry teased her, but he easily scooped her up into his arms, where she nuzzled into the side of his neck.

“Once you’ve run the bath,” she continued, “get us a bottle of champagne. Daph should be getting home at some point.”

“Right, yeah.” Harry carried her up the stairs to their bedroom, “have I mentioned lately that you’re absolutely gorgeous?”

“Mmrrr,” Pansy practically purred, kissing the side of Harry’s neck, “damn right I am. You’re brilliant. Love you.”

“Love you too, Pans,” Harry returned a kiss to the top of her head.

* * *

Later, Pansy continued to luxuriate in the bath, the warm water, champagne, and Harry’s nude body beside her proving to be the ideal accompaniment to her well-fucked state.

“That wasn’t so hard, right?” she teased, running wet fingers through Harry’s hair.

“In all honesty,” he leaned into her hand, “it’s not really my favourite scenario, but since it’s what you wanted, I definitely enjoyed it.”

“And what _is_ your favourite scenario?”

“Well, uh,” Harry blushed under her hand, “I know that this is right frustrating for you, but I’m seriously pretty much content exploring whatever it is that you and Daph want to try.”

“Nothing comes to mind?”

“I just don’t think I’m the most inventive, really. It’s something I love about the two of you, I always enjoy what you come up with.”

“You’re damn right you do,” Pansy ruffled his hair, leaning in to kiss him quickly, “but I really have to reiterate, the _instant_ that you come up with some kind of fantasy, I want to help you fulfill it, you know.”

“I know,” Harry chuckled, “and I don’t want you to think I’m not interested or anything like that, it’s just… it can be hard, yeah?”

“How so?”

“I just, well,” Harry smirked, “I know that this sounds cheesy, but I’m really, _really_ lucky to have the two of you. Luckier than I’d ever really imagined, you know. When I’m already more fortunate than I’d ever dreamed of, trying to come up with something even _better_ is beyond me, yeah?”

“That’s because you’re a lummox,” Pansy leaned her forehead into his, “and _I_ just want to be sure that I know that you’re still content.”

“More than content,” Harry reached around to squeeze her arse, and she happily wiggled against him, “I never really pictured being this happy.”

“No?”

“Not really, no,” Harry smiled happily, “it’s not that I want to sound like I was all heartbroken or anything like that, but when Ginny and I broke up, I’d never really pictured actually dating again, y’know? I didn’t spend a lot of time dreaming about my future when I was young, so it was all uncharted territory for me.”

“It’s pretty new for us as well,” Pansy admitted, “but _why_ on earth wouldn’t you figure you’d wind up dating? If it wasn’t me and Daph, _someone_ would have snapped you up eventually, Harry.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Harry murmured, “I know that the two of you think I’m great for some reason, but really, I’m not all that easy to handle, I think.”

“It _does_ require a certain tolerance for sulking,” Pansy pinched his arm, and he squirmed against her, “but… I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not, I just can’t figure out why you always seemed so _resigned_ about that foolish thought of yours.”

“I can’t really figure it out either,” Harry shrugged, “I guess, maybe, since I’d never really had a chance to make my _own_ choices for so long, I kind of got lost once I ran out of a purpose to fulfill?”

 _Hmm,_ Pansy thought, _I know he doesn’t really mind talking about the War for the most part, but this seems a bit heavier than usual._

“Do we _need_ a purpose?” she asked, “I can’t say that I’ve got some grand calling in life, but I’m certainly enjoying just living it, anyways.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry frowned, and Pansy did her best to chase away whatever doubt he felt with a quick kiss, “I’ve felt more focused ever since all this political shite started up again, and I wonder if maybe I always have to have a _mission_ of some sort, yeah?”

“I dunno,” Pansy embraced him, “apparently the whole ‘brooding Lord adrift in his own existential uncertainty’ thing really works for me.”

“I’m glad it does,” Harry chuckled, “I’m not sure if I’ve quite got the handle on being anything else, yeah?”

“You never had any grand ambitions?” Pansy teased, “not a Quidditch star, or a famous Auror?”

“Honestly,” Harry shrugged, “I’d never really figured I’d have lived this long.”

 _Fuck, there it is._ This revelation was a new one, and it finally helped some pieces of the Harry Potter puzzle slide into place in Pansy’s mind.

“ _Why_?” she asked.

“Well, can’t blame me,” Harry explained, “like, not to make you worry about me or anything, it’s not like it worries me _now_ , but I had someone or other try to kill me pretty much annually ever since I was eleven. That was _before_ I figured out that it was quite literally my responsibility to defeat Voldemort.”

“You’ve had a hard life,” Pansy sympathized, “but… you can picture a future now, I’d hope?”

“I hope so,” Harry squeezed her tightly against him, “and, assuming that you and Daphne remain interested, I’d like to think you’ll be parts of it.”

“You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me, Harry,” she kissed him again, “after all, if I can put up with your puns, my tolerance must be rather extreme.”

“Yours are just as bad.”

“Slander and falsehoods,” Pansy protested, “ _I_ engage in clever quips and stunning displays of wit, your own attempts are barely acceptable forms of comedy.”

“You seemed to enjoy it well enough when we got drunk on Libation of Loquaciousness,” Harry teased.

“I suppose I did,” she pinched him again, just because she _could_ , “I might be willing to admit that you aren’t _all_ bad.”

“High praise, Parkinson,” he drawled.

“You’re worth it, Potter,” she answered.

* * *

Daphne returned to 12 Grimmauld Place a couple hours of later, and from the flush on her face (to say nothing of the hickey at the base of her neck), Pansy could tell that she’d had an equally _enjoyable_ evening.

While Daphne looked as captivating as ever, in a casual outfit (wearing the dragonskin trousers that Pansy had gifted her, at that), there was a tension that she carried in her body language, her arms slightly crossed in front of her, her shoulders pulled back in a way that seemed on-guard.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Pansy greeted her, “looks like _you_ had a good night, hmm?”

“I uh, um,” Daphne stammered, nervously. Pansy could tell that her girlfriend was concerned about her reaction, her eyes darting around nervously, “I did, yes. To be blunt about it, yes, I had sex with Padma.”

“And?”

“…and?” Daphne blinked in confusion.

“How _was_ it?” Pansy swept closer to her, bringing her girlfriend into a tight embrace. She could smell a hint of an unfamiliar perfume on Daphne, and the scent was _almost_ enough to inspire her to throw her girlfriend onto the bed from the erotic images it conjured to mind, were it not for the fact that she had been so thoroughly _satisfied_ earlier in the evening.

“I’m not jealous either, if you were worried,” Harry interjected, inserting himself beside Pansy to join her in hugging their blonde girlfriend, “we all agreed to it, you haven’t done anything wrong, Daph.”

Daphne's tension seemed to disappear in an instant, as she melted into the embrace.

“Oh, it was very… it was _fun_. She’s very good with her mouth… which the two of you already know, I presume.”

“I want to hear _everything_ about it,” Pansy drawled, guiding her girlfriend to the couch, but not before planting a reassuring kiss to her lips, “and in exchange, I’ll tell you about _our_ evening.”

“Oh?”

“I finally convinced this lug,” Pansy reached to flick Harry’s shoulder with her fingers, “to act out the whole ‘Head Boy catches a delinquent Slytherin out after hours and takes advantage of her’ scenario.”

“Ooh!” the spark returned to Daphne’s eyes at this, and Pansy felt the last remnant of her _own_ nervousness disappear, “deal!”

As Daphne began to explain the events of _her_ evening, Pansy felt a strange, and yet somehow familiarly _blanketing_ sense of security settle over her.

 _Our relationship might not be the most conventional,_ she thought, _nor are any of us flawless people, but fuck me, is this ever working out **brilliantly.**_

It may not have been exactly what Pansy had pictured when she'd _hoped_ for the future, but now that the three had come together, she could not imagine anything better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving things along a bit!
> 
> I've had some very insightful comments recently about how Harry's passivity in the bedroom is starting to become a bit of a downer, so I wanted to touch on the fact that this absolutely _is_ a downfall of his - he's got a bunch of reasons that he acts this way, some of which are just traits of his, others of which are probably rooted in issues that he's going to have to address at some point.
> 
> Pansy, being Pansy, decided to bull her way through this uncertainty and basically obligate Harry to take charge - I wanted to use their roleplaying scenario both to explore Pansy's perception of him, to play with the sub/dom roles and "who is in charge?" aspect there, and to write porn :P 
> 
> This chapter was actually planned out this way for a while, so while it isn't written as a direct response to reader feedback, it's certainly been _tweaked_ as a result - I hope that this worked as I intended!
> 
> Once I figure out how to set it up so that the fics are connected to this series in terms of AO3 links (I think that a collection is what I'm looking for??? I welcome advice on this haha), I'm going to write one-shot spinoffs showing the times when Harry and Pansy had their own hook-ups with Padma, and then I'll circle back to this story to write Daphne's night... then, once all of the trio's individual experiences are covered, it might well turn out that Padma interacts with the _trio_ as a unit ;P
> 
> Looking forward to hearing feedback on this chapter, ideas about where I might be going with this, or any comments you had in mind!


	17. Soirée (Daphne/Padma)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne has an illuminating conversation with Padma, then more _entertaining_ activities, followed by an important talk with her partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Note: For those who don't want to read sex scenes that involve people outside of the primary trio, the middle part of this chapter has a Daphne/Padma scene you might wish to skip.
> 
> The first and third sections contain some important details relevant to world-building of this particular setting and implications for the plot, so I'd still recommend reading those parts!

Daphne

Daphne gave herself a final once-over in her mirror, checking her outfit again as if it might have suddenly changed in the last fifteen minutes, then, running out of excuses, left her flat to apparate off to her “maybe a date?” with Padma Patil.

She had dressed herself in a “sharp casual” style, which seemed appropriate for the destination; wearing a black blouse over the dragonhide trousers which Pansy had made for her, black patent heels completing the look, with a mix of silver and sapphire jewelry to accessorize. In many ways, her outfit was a form of armour for her; she was still a bit hesitant and uncertain about _what_ , precisely, this night might involve, and she’d rather _look_ the part of the “Ice Queen” than act it.

Huffing one last breath out in preparation, Daphne made her way into the bar. It was called “After 6”, one of the hip new places to go for cocktails in Diagon Alley, and even the choice of location was somewhat more ambiguous than Daphne would have liked: certainly, many people seemed to meet here for business, but other tables she walked past clearly involved more romantic sorts of pursuits.

It didn’t take long for her to find Padma, who was dressed in a similarly _sharp_ manner: a partly-sheer purple blouse (unbuttoned deeply enough to show a _considerable_ amount of cleavage), neat dark-blue jeans, and a few pieces of gold jewelry in her ears, nose, and at her neck.

 _It’s probably a good sign for Pansy,_ Daphne thought, _that stylish young Witches have moved so much closer to Muggle fashions._

“Hello, Padma,” Daphne greeted her “hostess” for the evening, “how are you?”

“Hi, Daphne!” Padma replied cheerfully, “quite well, thanks! You?”

“I’m good,” Daphne took a seat across the table, settling her nerves at the same time as she (literally) settled in to the chair.

They passed a few moments making idle small talk, before Daphne decided she’d move the topic of conversation closer to the ostensible reason that she was meeting Padma this evening.

“I’m still curious,” Daphne admitted, “how, exactly, it is that I have apparently been practicing a rare and ancient form of magic, without my own intent or awareness.”

“Well, I hope that I can do some small part to explain!” Padma’s eyes sparkled with interest, “I presume that you recall the basic theories of Magic as an entity?”

“Mhmm,” Daphne agreed, “it’s not truly a conscious _being_ , by most theories, but rather something that follows certain rules and tendencies, and to go against these conventions makes it more difficult to accomplish whatever your intended result is.”

“That’s correct,” Padma took a sip of her drink – _a magical beverage with similar effects to a weaker Pepper-Up Potion,_ Daphne noted – before continuing, “however, the area of study which I’ve been focusing on leads me to believe that it is a somewhat incomplete understanding, just as my own knowledge has only led me to believe that there is so _much_ that we have yet to accurately discern.”

 _Not many people speak this quickly,_ Daphne smirked, _but if nothing else, it’s fun to get a bit academic about this._

“Well, it seems fairly straightforward that Magic is not a strictly empirical phenomenon,” Daphne argued, “so it may well be that a true understanding of the underlying characteristics of Magic is forever out of reach simply by its own nature.”

“Very likely,” Padma admitted, “but my studies have, thankfully, been more illuminating than I’d even hoped for. Are you aware of the concept of ‘Magic of the Land’?”

“Not in-depth,” Daphne had heard the phrase before, but her own studies at Hogwarts had focused on practical applications over more esoteric topics.

“As a summary, it’s clear that magic is a global phenomenon,” Padma’s explanation was rapid-fire, and Daphne almost felt a point of pride for being able to follow it, “an underlying part of reality that some people are able to access, and in doing so, to _use_ magic. The actual nature of manifestation, however, seems to be quite varied across cultures and geographical locations, which might well indicate that different forms of magical practice actually change the shape of magic within a certain context.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for example, we’re both quite familiar with the practices of Magical Britain,” Padma continued, “the easiest way to cast spells is to employ a magical implement – wands, in our case – in coordination with specific gestures and spoken commands. However, these components are not truly _required,_ as many accomplished Wizards and Witches are quite capable of casting spells without their wand, without gesturing, and without speaking.”

“Is it related to an individual’s power?” Daphne wondered. Certainly, Harry seemed to be able to easily cast complex spells without aid of wand or spoken command, but he was an outlier in many regards.

“Somewhat, I’d say,” Padma took another sip of her drink before resuming once again, “it seems likely that the magic of Magical Britain is predisposed to follow certain conventions; each of these three components of spellcasting makes it _easier_ to reach the intended result, but magic users who are uniquely powerful, particularly well-practised, or notably strong of will appear to be able to bypass this ‘pathway’ in order to reach the same destination.”

“That’s a very poetic way of describing spell-casting,” Daphne was impressed, “but it still seems to rely on the magic-user’s intent to produce a result, which doesn’t appear to apply to my _own_ recent works.”

“Which ties back, I believe, to the idea of Magic as an entity:” Padma seemed to be well-prepared for this topic, “accidental magic is a well-known phenomenon in young children in our culture, where weak spells are cast without any accompanying casting components, and often without conscious intent. While I don’t wish to compare you to a child, it seems that your own personal magic is somewhat more flexible than many others’ might be, and I suspect that you’ve been creating eikomantic works as a result of your own magic reaching for a new avenue of expression.”

 _Huh,_ Daphne pursed her lips in thought, _because I’m not doing all that much spell-casting in my day-to-day, my magic itself is reaching out for something else? It sounds plausible, if not exactly what I’d expect…_

“Those who stop practicing magic as frequently usually tend to grow _weaker_ , do they not?” Daphne expressed her curiosity, “I’d anticipate that if it was because I’m growing out of practice with traditional spell-casting, that I’d simply start to lose magical ability, rather than manifesting _new_ ones…”

“And _that,_ I suspect, ties back to the concept of the Magic of the Land,” Padma grinned, clearly excited to continue her ‘lecture’ on this topic, “the traditions of Magical Britain are actually fairly muddled, with contributions from a number of different cultures. Our wand-based casting is very similar to Kabbalist tradition, surprisingly enough, and yet Potion-making is almost purely Druidic in its practice.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t considered that,” Daphne admitted, “potions _are_ a different kind of casting than attempting to produce the same effect by charms or incantation. Why is that, do you think?”

“It’s my belief that the shape of Magic within Magical Britain is one that is predisposed towards certain practices and outcomes, just as many other cultures have their own predispositions. For example, some European nations which still hew more tightly to Pagan practices will use staves or rings as casting implements instead of wands,” Padma leaned forwards, and Daphne had to make an effort not to glance at her cleavage, “while the aspects of Blood Magic that are practiced here would be seen as horribly Dark in some other cultures.”

“Blood Magic?” Daphne frowned.

“Not so grim as you’re picturing, but quite so, yes,” Padma nodded, as if to confirm to herself, “I’ve heard that this is a topic that you might not wish to discuss, so please let me know if you’d prefer that I stop talking about it, but the organization of ‘Pure-blood’ families is actually a ritualized expression of blood magic.”

“The whole ‘Family Magic’ idea is rather overstated, I think,” Daphne argued, “while it may be true that, say, House Ollivander has traditionally produced wand-makers, I rather doubt that this is due to predestination or anything so deterministic, I’d argue that it’s just as likely that a father trained his son in the family business, and so on.”

“I’d agree with you, in part,” Padma’s gaze seemed to grow a bit more intense with this topic, “I don’t think that magic actually _commands_ people to follow specific paths, but I do believe that it, well, tends to open doors and provide subtle _nudges_ in certain directions.”

“Hmm, I could see that,” Daphne agreed, “what would an example be?”

“Well, one avenue I’ve found particularly interesting is the outdated practice of forming Covens,” Padma answered, and Daphne’s eyebrow raised in interest; this was _not_ the first time she’d heard that phrase recently, “which were likely themselves the result of combining the Kabbalistic tradition of significant numbers – three, seven, nine, thirteen, so on – with an older, Druidic rite, which used sexuality to empower the results of these rituals. The practice of forming Covens had an impact on the nature of magic within Magical Britain, which in turn has an impact on magic-users within this area.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Padma smiled slyly, “but it’s actually quite common for Witches to be bisexual. When compared to Muggle society, the proportion of this orientation seems to be much higher, which I _suspect_ is due to a lingering tendency to make it easier for Witches to participate in Covens.”

 _This is, once again, starting to sound uncomfortably close to predestination,_ Daphne thought, although she couldn’t say that Padma was wrong (considering part of the reason for her accepting this offer, after all).

“That sounds a lot like destiny, I’m afraid,” Daphne voiced her thoughts.

“I wouldn’t consider it so straightforward as that, personally,” Padma continued, “for most of us, I imagine that we have just as much ability to make our own choices as any Muggle person would. The way I view it is that magic tends to open certain doors; since women such as myself are attracted to both men and women, it means that I could have the _option_ of joining a Coven if someone had the daring to found one, even though I doubt I’d make that choice, personally.”

 _That was pretty well-done,_ Daphne smirked in approval, _a subtle way of indicating that you’re interested, while still couched in the topic at hand. Nearly Slytherin of you, Padma._

“Almost like the principle of natural selection, the way you’re describing it,” Daphne pondered, “if these sorts of… _effects_ make certain niches easier to access, without necessarily obligating them.”

“That’s a good comparison!” Padma paused, as their server returned to the table, and her second beverage order was a drink that was mixed with just the slightest hint of a lust potion, which Daphne realized was another subtle expression of _interest._

“I’ll have the same, thank you,” Daphne hadn’t yet decided what, exactly, she was going to reply to Padma’s presumed offer with, but she was beginning to lean more towards ‘yes’.

 _It’s not that I’m not interested,_ she thought, _and, like Pansy said, were I single… I’d almost certainly go for it, but it’s just…_

Daphne wasn’t really used to _uncertainty_ in this sort of situation. When she had been single, her brief entanglements were usually quite straightforward in terms of mutual interest, but this _possibility_ also carried the complicating factor of her existing relationship, which was halfway a secret, yet also not an _impediment_ to any further _developments._

In a way, the novelty of the scenario seemed to have its own sort of appeal.

“So, other than possibly making it more likely for me to be bisexual,” Daphne decided to open this particular ‘door’ a bit wider, “what is your theory on the effects that Magic itself has had on _me_?”

“Well, just to be clear,” Padma leaned slightly closer, almost conspiratorially, “and my apologies for being blunt, but I find it is easier to be straightforward; I am _absolutely_ flirting with you, but if I’ve misjudged things, then I am also quite content to hold to purely academic topics.”

“Mm,” Daphne felt a slight blush rising in her cheeks, “well, you _should_ know that I am, hmm, _involved_ with someone, however…” she spoke over Padma’s beginning attempts to apologize, “they are aware of where I am, and they, um, _approve_.”

 _That’s putting it lightly, in Pansy’s case,_ Daphne recalled with a smirk, _and hopefully that’s vague enough not to reveal too much just yet._

“Oh!” Padma’s eyes sparked with interest, “that’s quite fascinating! Unconventional arrangements such as that are particularly intriguing to me as well, I would love to discuss that further, if you’d be willing!”

“Perhaps,” Daphne realized that she had, in fact, made her decision, “but first… I _am_ rather curious about hearing the conclusion to your theories as to why _my_ magic, in particular, is behaving in new ways.”

“Oh! Yes!” Padma seemed as if she had to make an effort to refocus on this topic, “right, yes, the last aspect I was discussing was relating to Magic of the Land, and how this could be relevant. Well, um, not to dredge up any grim topics, but with the end of the Second Wizarding War, it’s quite likely that local magic is, itself, in somewhat of a state of flux.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well,” a brief flicker of something dark flickered over Padma’s expression, something that Daphne had seen happen to Harry at times, “the so-called Dark Lord was a powerful practitioner of magics related to Death, destruction, domination, generally Dark avenues of magic. With his rather conclusive defeat, these elements have in turn been weakened, which, if returning to the earlier metaphor, has likely opened doors which had previously been shut.”

 _I wonder if Harry’s ever been told that he saved the “soul” of Magical Britain itself…_ Daphne rather suspected that he hadn’t.

“Given that magic is still adjusting to this change in nature, I think that it’s quite plausible that the avenues of practice are somewhat more flexible at this point,” Padma continued, “and considering the current focal figure who drives some of this change, it would make sense that forms of magic based more in emotion and unconscious expression may move closer to the forefront.”

“Hmm,” Daphne turned this idea over for a moment, “I don’t think it would come as a surprise to many people to suggest that Lord Potter-Black seems set to become the next Dumbledore, but I’ll admit that I find it surprising to suggest that someone of that stature can reshape the nature of _magic_ in this land.”

“Not quite ‘the next Dumbledore’, the way I’d phrase it, if I’m correct in my theory,” Padma disagreed.

“Well, I’m sure you know him better than I do,” Daphne forced herself to maintain this deception, “but I’ve seen him duel, and it certainly seems as if Harry… Potter,” she added his last name as she realized how familiar she’d sound, “is among the most powerful magic-users I’ve ever witnessed.”

“That’s just it,” Padma smiled, and there was a glint of _something_ in her eyes, “if I’m right, I think ‘Dumbledore’ would be selling him short. If he chooses to actually _use_ his power, then, well, I believe that Harry might well be the next _Merlin_.”

These words left a brief moment of silence in their wake, as Daphne tried her best to process the idea. The more she tried to find holes in this theory, the more she realized that, yes, her boyfriend might well have the capability to become a _legendary_ figure, beyond even his current heroic status.

“Wow,” she breathed the word, impressed, “that’s a lot to take in.”

“There’s a lot more to the man than most realize,” Padma agreed, with that glimmer of _interest_ in her gaze only increasing in intensity.

“I think I might wish to discuss lighter topics, after that,” Daphne admitted, eyeing her empty glass pointedly.

“I agree!” Padma cheerfully announced, leaning across the table to rest her hand against the back of Daphne’s arm, “and, well, if you would like to move this conversation elsewhere… my hotel _is_ just down the road from here.”

It was strange; though the weight of the last topic seemed like it _should_ have dampened Daphne’s enthusiasm, she felt oddly _relieved_ by this advance. In some way, Padma’s offer felt like something that just made _sense_ , as if something were subtly sliding into place.

Daphne made her decision.

“Is it, now?” she smiled, “perhaps you should show me.”

* * *

Daphne’s heart began to thrum in her chest as soon as she set foot in Padma’s hotel room. It wasn’t quite _nervousness_ that she felt, closer to a sort of uncertain excitement. While it was just as likely that this night may prove to be a one-off, Daphne also understood that this could mean a _change_ in her relationship, the first step towards something different.

She couldn’t help but compare the idea to the conversation about the shifting nature of magic that she’d had with Padma earlier; if anything, this certainly seemed like a _door_ being opened.

No longer making the effort to disguise her gaze, Daphne's eyes traced over Padma, who stood at the center of the room, not far from her bed. Daphne realized that Padma was similar to Pansy in some superficial ways; shorter than Daphne, with dark hair, and a _sinfully_ curvaceous figure.

While Pansy's features carried a hint of something _sharp_ , and Padma's own seemed _soft,_ by body-type alone, Daphne noticed a resemblance. She was struck by the idle thought that Susan, as well, possessed some of these traits, the three women sharing similarities even though each was so different from the others.

 _Fuck, I really do have a type,_ she thought.

“Do you have any hard limits, particular preferences, or boundaries I should be aware of?” Padma asked, the gleam in her eyes seeming to land halfway between ‘lustful’ and ‘intellectually curious’.

“I don’t want to do anything _too_ extreme,” Daphne answered, “and, while it’s unlikely that it would come up, talk of pregnancy is a pretty hard ‘no’ for me.”

“Oh, certainly,” Padma grinned at her, and Daphne wondered if ‘dark hair’ was another aspect of her ‘type’, “I do like to talk a lot, during sex, but more in terms of actions currently happening, not, um, biologically-implausible hypotheticals.”

“What about your preferences?” Daphne’s voice was husky, as she stepped a bit closer to Padma, “anything of note?”

“I’m fairly open-minded,” Padma leaned forward, and Daphne’s eyes fell to her cleavage, “don’t get too rough, but otherwise, I’m very interested in finding out what _you_ prefer.”

Daphne closed the remaining distance between herself and Padma, taking the shorter woman into an embrace as she leaned in to kiss her. As soon as their mouths met, Padma’s tongue began to probe at Daphne’s lips, which Daphne happily accepted. Daphne’s mind conjured images of Pansy standing in her own place, followed by brief fantasies of what it must have looked like when it was _Harry_ kissing Padma.

She found the idea more arousing than she would have suspected.

Kissing Padma was different than kissing either of her partners: though it was still _fun_ , Daphne was definitely aware that it seemed _shallower_ in a way, lacking the deeper connections that have grown between herself, Harry, and Pansy. This wasn’t unexpected, as the whole evening was _meant_ to be an explicitly casual sort of arrangement, but she couldn’t ignore the contrast.

Still, though… Padma was an _excellent_ kisser.

Daphne pulled herself out of her thoughts, and instead began to enjoy these feelings for what they were: a light, enjoyable release. She turned her attention to the purely _physical_ side of her activities. 

_Speaking of “release”…_

Daphne pressed her hands into Padma’s chest, and even over her shirt and bra could feel the _fullness_ of Padma’s breasts, the heat in Daphne’s belly growing as Padma’s tongue invaded her mouth, their snogging quickly becoming wet, almost _sloppy._

The two women began to undress each other, their blouses unbuttoned and tossed aside, followed quickly by their bras.

Daphne smirked, toying with the ring piercing in Padma’s left nipple, the action met by Padma’s enthusiastic moan into her mouth.

 _You’re right, Harry, she_ does _have great tits._

Padma’s own hands clamped down on Daphne’s arse, and Daphne reluctantly removed her hands from the pillowy softness of Padma’s breasts to unbutton her dragonskin trousers, aided by Padma dropping to her knees to help pull them free of Daphne’s legs.

As Padma lowered herself, she continued to pay an _exquisite_ amount of attention to Daphne with her mouth; she sucked one of Daphne’s nipples, licked down her abdomen and around her navel, and planted a wet kiss against the edge of her hipbone.

Daphne shuddered a breath when Padma began to kiss up her thighs, loosely running her fingers into Padma’s black hair as the other woman slowly traced her tongue along the edge of Daphne’s thong. Daphne pulled the garment aside with her free hand, then eagerly guided Padma’s face between her legs.

“Mm,” Daphne murmured, as Padma pressed her tongue flat against her pussy, both her hands returning to Daphne’s arse cheeks, the kneeling woman pulling Daphne’s hips closer with enthusiasm.

 _It seems like she enjoys me being in charge,_ Daphne thought, as Padma begins to lick her more vigorously, _not unlike Harry, actually._

 _“You’re_ _delicious,_ _” Padma hissed, then dove back between Daphne’s legs._

Padma was, indeed, quite skilled: though she didn’t have all of Daphne’s most pleasurable spots memorized as Harry or Pansy did, but Daphne appreciated the long, almost _hungry_ movements of her tongue all the same.

“Fuck, you’re good,” Daphne hissed her approval.

“Am I?” Padma teased, nowhere near ‘submissive’ despite her subordinate position in front of Daphne, “you like being _serviced_?”

Padma paired her demanding tone with a slow, almost _taunting_ stroke of her fingers along the entrance of Daphne’s pussy.

“Get on the bed,” Daphne ordered, letting a bit of ‘Ice Queen’ creep into her voice, but it seemed as if Padma was _more_ than okay with this authoritative sort of tone, “it’s my turn to show you what _I_ can do.”

They kissed quickly when Padma stood up, and Daphne tasted herself on Padma’s tongue. She had a brief thought of how _hot_ it would be to taste another woman in _Pansy’s_ mouth, which inspired her to guide the brunette witch back into her hotel bed with urgency.

Daphne took a moment to appreciate the sight of Padma’s breasts heaving as she flopped down onto her back, propping herself up on her elbows, before Daphne practically yanked Padma’s jeans off, then immediately lowered her face between Padma’s legs. She sucked on Padma’s clit over the brunette’s underwear even as she pulled them off with one hand, rubbing two of her fingers over Padma’s entrance before plunging them inside.

The other woman was _hot_ to the touch, slick around Daphne’s digits, and Daphne pumped her fingers slowly in and out of Padma as she licked at the top of her pussy.

“Fuck,” Padma groaned, watching her, “you _are_ good at eating pussy. You know what would make it even better?”

“Mmm?” Daphne’s reply was muffled by the way her mouth was pressed against Padma’s sex.

“I think you should sit on my face.”

 _This is a new kind of dynamic,_ Daphne thought, _she’s bossy, but seems to insist on putting herself in the submissive position…_

While Daphne was quite experienced with switching between ( _heh, “switch”_ ) who took the dominant role between Harry, Pansy, and herself, the way that Padma seemed to land solidly in a “demanding” sort of role was _interesting_. It left her feeling somewhat off-guard, but in an intriguing way; since she tended more towards the submissive side of things herself, Daphne thought that this could be an opportunity to practice her skills being more dominant, even if she clearly wasn’t “in charge”.

Daphne smirked against Padma’s pussy, giving one last, long lick against her sex before she scooted up the bed, swinging her knees over Padma’s head to oblige her request. Once again, the brunette’s hands latched on to Daphne’s arse, and Daphne luxuriated in how _eagerly_ Padma lapped at her pussy, grinding her hips back into Padma’s mouth.

Taking advantage of her height, Daphne reached down to replace her fingers between Padma’s legs, enjoying the muffled moan that came from her “seat” below her. Padma, meanwhile, became even _more_ enthusiastic (somehow). She didn’t tend to use her tongue as _quickly_ as Harry or Pansy did, but seemed to prefer _depth,_ and lewd wet sounds echoed from between Daphne’s legs as Padma _feasted_ on her pussy.

The way that Padma worked her tongue _inside_ of Daphne at times was enough to distract Daphne from her own task, as much as she attempted to stay focused on fucking Padma with her fingers. Sure enough, Daphne was the first to orgasm; she threw her head back and moaned unashamedly, her thighs tensed around Padma’s head.

“Fuck, you’re hot when you’re cumming,” Padma’s voice was thick with lust, “I want to see that again.”

“Now I want to see _you_ come,” Daphne moaned, before she pitched forwards, latching her own mouth to Padma’s sex. She devoted herself entirely to this task, no longer distracted by Padma’s own skills, pumping her fingers in and out of Padma at the tame time as Daphne sucked at her clit.

When Padma shuddered and clenched around her fingers, Daphne rolled to the side, catching her breath while she lay on her back. It didn’t take long for Padma to recover, and the brunette quickly began to resume her nigh- _worship_ of Daphne’s body; she leaned over to lick one of Daphne’s nipples, then sucked at the side of her neck, immediately followed by a wet kiss against her lips.

“Get on top of me,” Daphne commanded, gently pulling Padma into position. She reached between Padma’s legs again, hooking her fingers inside the curvy woman as Daphne squeezed and fondled her breasts with her other hand.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Padma muttered between kisses, and Daphne hissed a breath in turn as Padma wedged an arm between them and pushed her own fingers back inside Daphne.

“You like that?” Padma’s voice was _insistent_ , “are you going to cum for me again? Going to cum while we _fuck_ each other?”

“You’re going to cum first,” Daphne protested, “I’m going to make _you_ cum.”

It wasn’t her most inventive dirty-talk, but Daphne found that she enjoyed it all the same. In the back of her head, she wondered if it would be possible to enhance this dynamic more if she slept with Padma a second time; the way that they seemed to almost _compete_ with each other felt like something that wouldn’t be the most fluid during their first time together.

 _She_ is _actually quite similar to me,_ Daphne realized, _at least, the way she likes to talk during sex is._

Daphne idly wondered if this was perhaps related to the way that both women were somewhat academic in their mindsets; Pansy tended to communicate with her _body_ just as much as her words, while Harry… tended to be fairly straightforward when expressing his own pleasure.

“Yes, please,” Padma almost whined, “please, your fingers feel so good inside me,” her thumb flicked against Daphne’s clit, and Daphne’s legs quivered in response, “you look so good _underneath_ me.”

Daphne knew that she was getting close, but immediately decided that she was going to win this particular “contest”, as she hooked a third, then a _fourth_ finger inside Padma’s hot pussy, the brunette’s breath hitching. Padma latched her lips onto the skin above Daphne’s collar bone, sucking _hard_ as a high-pitched whine started to escape her mouth.

When Daphne felt Padma clench around her fingers, the way that the brunette _bit_ down onto her sensitive flesh sent a shock of pleasure through her body, which immediately set off her _own_ orgasm.

“That was fun,” Daphne reviewed, after the women had caught their breath.

 _It was fun,_ she thought, _not the best sex I’ve had, by any means, but, well, I enjoyed myself._

She couldn’t help but think that Padma represented, in some ways, a sort of blending of different traits of the three members of Daphne’s relationship when it came to sexual preferences; vocal like herself, _demanding_ like Pansy, and yet focused on her partner’s pleasure in a way that was reminiscent of Harry.

“It was!” Padma seemed similarly content, “I, um, I’m busy the next couple of days, but we should do this again before I leave town. If you’d like, of course.”

Daphne found this statement (and Padma’s continued interest) surprisingly relieving, for some reason. _Was I concerned that I didn’t perform well enough?_ she wondered, _sure, it wasn’t exactly mind-blowing, but it was a first-time hook-up, so that makes sense. Am I just starting to overthink something?_

 _I’ll worry about it when I’m not in another woman’s bed, I suppose_.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Daphne smiled, as she started to dress herself.

* * *

As she made her way back to 12 Grimmauld Place, Daphne found herself lost in her thoughts once again.

While she knew that having sex with Padma was something that both Harry and Pansy _very much_ approved of, and it had been _fun_ , Daphne had started to get herself caught on some ideas of what the evening might _mean_.

She was far from worried about the idea of her partners deciding to join in any potential future rendezvouses with Padma (if anything, that idea sounded _very_ interesting, if the political concerns could be addressed), but the ease at which she’d slipped into Padma’s bedroom seemed to be the ironic cause for her unclear thoughts; Daphne wondered if any future _entanglements_ might prove to be not quite as temporary as this one, and then couldn't help but feel a flash of insecurity at the idea that someone else might wind up fitting _better_ in the relationship, somehow.

Daphne pondered if it were perhaps some strange form of pre-emptive guilt: she’d certainly been aware of Susan’s interest in her, and with the redhead’s upcoming prominent role in the political games that Harry had found himself embroiled in, Daphne couldn’t ignore the idea of turning that dynamic into something _more_ , whatever that might look like.

 _I doubt she’d be Pansy’s first choice, though_ , Daphne knew, and she wondered how the trio might manage to reconcile these various possibilities.

_Am I just being ridiculous because I've slept with another woman and they haven't yet?_

_Is someone who frets and worries like this – over what's probably nothing – even the right fit with Harry and Pansy?_

She shook her head, attempted to dispel her anxiety.

_I **know** I'm good enough for them, they've never given me cause to doubt that, so what **is** this???_

When her girlfriend greeted her, Pansy’s own “flushed and content” appearance sent a warm feeling through Daphne’s chest which had been entirely absent during her time with Padma, helping to chase some of her rapidly-circling thoughts away for a moment. Even still, Daphne felt a new, apparently-paradoxical form of doubt emerge: _I had fun, but I want to be with Pansy more than any other woman._ _Do they feel the same?_

As Daphne muttered her way through Pansy’s cheerful welcome and bluntly confirmed her actions of the night, she felt these insecurities _finally_ begin melt away in the face of the obvious _love_ that her partners felt for her, and she allowed herself to simply relax and stop _thinking_ for a few moments (as difficult as this was for her), wrapped up in the middle of Pansy and Harry’s embrace.

Later in the night, when her mind had become a bit clearer, Daphne finally reached the realization of what had been worrying her.

“Harry, Pans?” she began, “I’ve got a bit of a lingering concern, I think. It’s about magic and all that, not anything about either of you, but, well, I’m curious about something.”

“Yeah?” Harry seemed unbothered by the topic change, while Pansy just continued to lounge in Daphne’s lap, sprawled halfway across each of her partners.

“So, uh, well, I’ll just be blunt about it,” Daphne licked her lips, “I know how you get uncomfortable when we talk about how powerful you are, but have you considered what that might, um, _mean_?”

Harry paused for a moment, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to be offended or hurt, merely surprised.

“Honestly, I try not to,” he shrugged, “what brought this up?”

“Well, Padma and I _did_ actually discuss magical theory in a fair amount of depth,” Daphne explained, “and, hmm, she seems to believe that you’re a sort of focal point for Magic itself. At least within Magical Britain.”

“Shocking,” Pansy drawled, “the boy who single-handedly defeated the Dark Lord, magically powerful? I would _never_ have guessed.”

“It wasn’t really single-handedly,” Harry grumbled, “and besides, I thought we’d decided that that whole side of things wasn’t really, uh, important?”

“I don’t think it’s made any difference for _us_ ,” Daphne reassured him, gesturing to the three of them, “but, well… I’m apparently manifesting new types of magic, and I’m fairly certain that it’s because I’ve become so close to you.”

“Perfect,” Pansy smirked, “if I get all this _and_ get to become more powerful thanks to hanging around the Great and Powerful Harry Potter? Bonus.”

“You don’t seem surprised, Pans,” Harry muttered, his brow creasing in thought.

“I know it’s easy to forget,” Pansy said sarcastically, “but I _was_ raised as a Pureblood. Intimate relationships are well known to result in some blending of magic, so, no, it’s not really that surprising. You’ve got _loads_ of magic to spare, after all.”

“I guess that’s what has me a bit out of sorts,” Daphne admitted, “I’m not saying that I want you to become _anything_ other than who you are, Harry, but, well… the odds are pretty good that you’re going to be an _important_ figure in the magical world.”

“He already is,” Pansy protested with a shrug, “hasn’t really made a difference yet, we’ve still got him wrapped around our pinkies, don’t we?”

Harry reached down to tickle the back of Pansy’s knee, but his frown relaxed into a more comfortable expression, at least.

“What I’m wondering is… do you think I’m _enough_ to be part of that?” Daphne finally admitted her insecurity; while she had absolutely no reason to doubt Harry and Pansy’s love for _her_ , some small part of her still wondered if she was deserving of it.

“You’re brilliant,” Harry leaned over to kiss the side of your head, “one of the smartest people I know, really, and you’re both _strong_ in all the ways that matter. I’d be utterly lost with all this political shite going on if it wasn’t for you, you know? I don’t really think that I’m exactly set to become like Dumbledore or anything like that, but even if I _do_ wind up becoming some important big-shot, it’ll only be because I had the two of you by my side.”

 _“Dumbledore” might be underselling it, Harry…_ she did her best to cast this doubt aside, focusing on the steady _certainty_ of Harry’s words.

“’Behind every great man’, and all that,” Pansy chuckled, “besides, Daph, he’s already managed to land the two of us, brilliant, gorgeous, and devious witches that we are, he’s pretty much nailed down the future of his two Houses.”

Daphne blushed at this statement; while the three of them had vaguely discussed an unclear future together, she hadn’t expected it to be _Pansy_ who would be the first to raise the topic of marriage, even indirectly.

 _Three **is** a magically significant number, _she recalled.

Somehow, Pansy's words seemed to brush aside a portion of her worries. Her girlfriend's fierce and uncompromising nature was a constant source of strength for Daphne, and for Harry too.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry fidgeted for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then seemed to settle himself, “we can sort out Houses and all that when we have to, but if you’re worried, Daph, I’ve got to say that I’m better than I’ve ever been, with the two of you.”

“So am I,” Daphne admitted, leaning over to kiss Harry, then down into her lap to kiss the top of Pansy’s head, when her girlfriend had started making playful noises of protest.

 _Still, though,_ she wondered to herself, _there’s parts of you that I don’t understand – can’t understand, really – and I want to make sure that you still have that kind of support when we can’t provide it._

Daphne settled in deeper to the couch, simply enjoying the feeling of Harry and Pansy’s bodies pressed against her.

 _Whether you decide to become “Great” or not,_ she decided, refusing to listen to her own doubts any longer, _I’ll be by your side either way._

Finally, she felt assured in herself. Whatever the future may hold, whatever “doors” Harry might find open in front of him, Daphne _knew_ that she and Pansy would be with him when they crossed those thresholds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Note** : Edited as of October 28/2020, to fix the sex scene (parts of a draft wound up in the published version), and clarify some parts of Daphne's thoughts. 
> 
> With the one-shots complete, I've circled back to the main fic, but for anyone who missed them, there's separate stories covering [Harry's past with Padma](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26853997) and similarly [Pansy's time with her](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041242). Neither are essential reading, but I was honestly hoping that they got a bit more reception than they actually did!
> 
> Daphne's character is always interesting for me to write, as so much of her perspective tends to face inwards. I hope that this was still entertaining to read!
> 
> Looking forward to the comments, reviews, speculation, and so on from this chapter - I'm going to do my best to focus on finishing this installment in the coming weeks, and reader reactions definitely help keep me on-track!


	18. Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a night out with Ron, Neville, and Seamus, which is unexpectedly interrupted by Padma's arrival partway through.
> 
> Padma reveals something unexpected, and the trio has to deal with this _revelation_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's little bits of plot development hidden in this chapter - I'm curious to see if they're noticeable!

Harry

Harry found himself lost in a number of different thoughts as he put himself together, getting ready for a small “boys’ night” with Neville, Ron, and Seamus. For once, he didn’t struggle to decide what outfit to wear, but rather found himself ensnared in matters ranging from the (relatively) ordinary all the way to _mystical_ concerns.

It hadn’t been hard for him to notice that Daphne had been somewhat out-of-sorts the past couple days, but – unlike what he had feared at first – it didn’t seem that her recent dalliance with Padma was behind her latest bout of worry. Instead, it seemed that his girlfriend was caught up in thoughts relating to her past, which Harry could sympathize with.

There were just over two weeks left until the Wizengamot reconvened, and along with this proceeding, Daphne’s planned re-entry into the thoroughly frustrating world of Pureblood politics. Harry felt for her; it couldn’t be any easy thing to suddenly return to a world that she’d emphatically exited from, and it seemed that her recent doubts about being “good enough” for him (an utterly preposterous concern, in his opinion) were rooted in her childhood lessons guiding her to be a “proper Pureblood wife”.

Harry wasn’t looking forward to his upcoming duties acting as “Lord Potter-Black”, intentionally casting himself into a role that didn’t suit him whatsoever, but he understood why it was _necessary_ , and so couldn’t really bring himself to _worry_ about it, really.

Instead, he was more worried about _Harry Potter,_ rather than _Lord Potter-Black_.

While he doubted that the effects were quite as dramatic as Daphne had claimed, it was clear that his magic was _affecting_ his girlfriends somehow. He recalled Proudfoot’s suggestions and warnings about how Harry (as a magically-powerful Wizard) would tend to attract “followers” simply by existing, and though Pansy and Daphne had made _very_ certain to chase away the fear that they were dating him because of his _magic_ , he couldn’t quite manage to shake off _all_ his own, deeper concerns.

 _Not that they even know the whole story,_ Harry frowned, _I’ll really have to come clean about some of my past at some point…_

That conversation, at least, could wait for some uncertain time in the future when they didn’t have other problems like “how do we keep our relationship a secret” or “let’s come up with a plan to defeat Daphne’s dad in politics” breathing down their necks.

 _I wonder if this is why Dumbledore never found some bloke to settle down with?_ Harry could just _barely_ manage to tolerate the fact that _politics_ were going to cause so much stress and worry for his girlfriends.

Harry knew that he wasn’t going to be the second coming of Dumbledore: for so many reasons, and in so many different ways, Harry simply wasn’t the same _kind_ of man as his deceased mentor had been. Even _if_ (and to Harry, that was a very significant “if”) he eventually became as powerful as Dumbledore had been, Harry simply didn’t possess the same kind of multi-layered _deviousness_ that Albus had.

Which only exacerbated his concerns. Harry was happy to admit that he was a relatively blunt sort of man, one who saw more value in a direct approach over crafting different schemes within schemes, and this tendency had certainly reasserted itself a few weeks prior, when he’d saw fit to duel not one but _four_ of his political opponents.

_I don’t think that Dumbledore had a single duel against any of his various Wizengamot enemies, and I’m already almost out of room to count mine on one hand._

Instead, he’d started to worry that his tendency to approach these conflicts with a strategy of “join with my cause, or I’ll destroy you in magical combat” was a much closer comparison to the _other_ once-in-a-generation Wizard that had influenced much of Harry’s life. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if – before he started murdering and torturing – Tom Riddle had also found himself frustrated by the limitations of “laws” or “rules”.

Which was precisely the motivation that Harry needed to do his best to just go have _fun_ with his mates. Though his tendency to meet the problem of “I feel emotional turmoil” with the solution of “therefore, I shall drink about it” might not have been the _best_ approach, Harry was pretty damn certain that fucking _Voldemort_ never went to get drunk with his friends as a means of dealing with his stress.

 _Fuck, it’s a good thing that we’re dating Pansy,_ Harry grinned to himself, _if it was just Daph and me, we wouldn’t have anyone around to give us a kick in the arse when we get all **troubled** like this._

Though the trio hadn’t really planned out anything _specific_ yet, Harry knew that Pansy was also going out with Blaise and Michel tonight, and Daphne was attending a private party at the art gallery her pieces were being displayed at, so there was a vague idea of reconvening to _celebrate_ later, which Harry was very much looking forward to.

With that happier thought, he stepped towards his fireplace with a handful of Floo powder, starting to make his way to the Leaky Cauldron to meet up with the boys.

* * *

 _If I thought that this was_ my _last chance to cut loose for a while,_ Harry realized, _I_ really _wasn’t thinking about Ron._

While Ron always tended to be somewhat on the “exuberant” side of social events, he was well and truly **cutting loose** that night; it was all that Harry and Neville could manage to do to convince him to keep his shirt on by the time they’d wandered to their third bar of the night.

“I’m fuckin’ terrified, mate,” Ron admitted to Harry, his eyes slightly bleary, “but also, really… excited?”

“I can’t imagine, mate,” Harry patted Ron’s back in reassurance, “but you’re gonna do great, yeah?”

“I’m gonna be a _dad_ ,” Ron practically goggled, though this _couldn’t_ have been a new realization for him, “the kid could do so much better, and, fuck, they’re gonna got _me_ as a dad!”

 _Not making too much sense there, Ron,_ Harry just continued to reassure his friend, leaving his own thoughts unspoken.

“Ron, you’re gonna be fine,” Harry hushed him, “I mean, _your_ dad did brilliant, and he had to raise _loads_ more kids than you. Could be worse, can you imagine if you had twins?”

Ron stared at Harry with wide eyes, before guffawing loudly as he apparently thought of something funny.

“Fuck, what _am_ I even complaining about?” Ron continued to snort and chuckle as he spoke, “after all, you’re gonna have _two_ wives to have kids with, eh?”

Surprisingly, the thought didn’t scare Harry. Though it was definitely _far_ too soon to discuss marriage and children beyond any vague, hypothetical sense, the idea of starting a family with Daphne and Pansy just sounded _nice_ to him.

“Oi!” Seamus announced his return to the table, a pint in either hand, “what’re you doing, wasting your time with this sad sack here? You’re the last of us that’s a bachelor, Harry, you should go find some pretty bird to have some fun with!”

“I am?” Harry wondered, as Ron snorted beside him. Spotting a glimmer of gold, Harry caught the fact that – at some point in the evening – Seamus had put a ring on his left hand, quickly realizing the sentiment behind his jibe, “oh, fuck! Congratulations, mate!”

“Thanks!” Seamus grinned widely, “it was finally time for ‘Vati to make an honest man out of me, yeah?”

“I truly doubt that Parvati could make you an honest man,” Neville, exasperated, also returned with a pair of pints, “but, yeah, congratulations!”

As his two friends sat down, sliding one of their pints to Ron and Harry respectively, Harry couldn’t help but smirk at this development. _Ron, yeah, that makes sense. Neville, too. But for **Seamus** to be the next one of our year to get engaged? Wouldn’t’ve bet on that._

“That’s half the reason I got this together, after all,” Seamus gestured dramatically, “wanted to break the news in person, yeah?”

“Too bad Dean couldn’t make it,” Ron took a deep swig of his ale, “how’s he been doing, anyways?”

“Oh, he’s doing brilliantly,” Seamus leaned towards Harry, a wry grin on his face, “coming up on their first anniversary, aren’t they?”

“Yeah?” Harry wracked his memory, trying to recall the name of the French witch that Dean married after a _whirlwind_ romance, “been that long already, has it?”

“Helps when they got married after dating for three months,” Neville shrugged, “can’t blame him, Marie is lovely, of course.”

“Well, that’s my _first_ secret revealed,” Seamus’s grin was practically _maniacal_ at this point, and Harry wondered if he’d wind up having to put _literal_ fires out before the evening wrapped up, “as for my second… my lovely fiancée and her friends will be joining us in a bit!”

 _Ugh,_ Harry grumbled internally. He didn’t _dislike_ Lavender, but neither was she someone that he really set out to spend much time with. Her newly-minted relationship with Bill Weasley didn’t do much to improve Harry’s opinion of her.

_Wait a minute…_

**_Fuck._ **

Harry realized a number of things in that instant: first, the mystery of Padma returning to town, and yet (surprisingly) not attempting to contact him resolved itself; she was clearly visiting just long enough to celebrate Parvati’s engagement. Secondly, that part of _Seamus’s_ celebration would apparently mean that he _would_ in fact have this reunion with Padma.

Third, that he’d have to somehow find a way of wriggling out of any possible advances without hurting Padma’s feelings; she wasn’t part of the inner circle that Harry trusted with the secret of his _real_ relationship, and he already had plans with his girlfriends that he wouldn’t dream of changing.

Harry did his best to mask his spike of anxiety by taking a long drink of his pint, but instead he managed to _nearly_ choke himself when the quartet of women appeared just moments after Seamus had announced his plans.

Padma had met his eyes across the room immediately, an almost-conspiratorial smirk crossing her features as soon as she did so.

She looked _good_.

Harry swallowed the briefly-strangling swig of his ale, putting himself back in the right sort of mindset to greet the women in a friendly manner. He knew Parvati fairly well, sure, and while he had already thought about how she wasn’t his _favourite_ person, he also knew Lavender well enough. Their fourth member, Fay Dunbar, had been a Gryffindor in their year, but Harry had never really got to know her beyond a casually polite level of acquaintance, and didn’t really see any cause to deepen that connection.

So, of _course_ , Padma easily pulled up a seat beside him, and he couldn’t _not_ be awkward about it, considering that she _was_ the one he was closest with out of the four women, even putting everything _intimate_ aside.

“Hey, Harry!” Padma cheerfully greeted him, “been a while! How’re you?”

“Hey, Pads,” Harry took another bracing swig of his ale, “I’ve been pretty good, you?”

 _I already know what you’ve been up to lately,_ Harry thought, entirely at a loss as to how to navigate this dynamic, _considering that “shagging my girlfriend” was one of your recent highlights…_

“Oh, pretty well, thank you!” Padma leaned into him to bump her shoulder against his, “better now, I think,” her voice had a _friendly_ teasing tone to it, but Harry’s mind crashed to a halt anyways. “It looks like you _are_ doing well! You’re certainly dressing a lot sharper than the last time I saw you,” she poked at his jacket, the dragonhide one that Pansy had made for him, “is that actually _dragonskin_?”

“Er, uh, yeah,” Harry stammered his answer, “it is, yup.”

“Very nice!” she chirped. He was sure that Padma _must_ have noticed his awkwardness, and yet she was acting as if it was _amusing_ to her, “where did you get that from?”

“The dragonhide?” Harry mumbled, “it’s, uh, from a dragon that I killed. Slayed? Slew? Not sure what the right term is for that, heh.”

“Oh, I figured,” Padma leaned closer to him, and Harry had to **try** not to look down her cleavage as she did so, “I meant the jacket! It’s quite sharp, I might look into the maker while I’m in town for a bit!”

“It’s, uh, er, it was a gift,” Harry scratched at the back of his head, “I’m, uh, not sure if they make more like this?”

He was granted a brief reprieve when the ladies’ drinks arrived at the table, and Padma turned to talk to her sister for a moment instead, and this moment of relief immediately ended when he felt his enchanted notebook vibrate against his chest, inside his jacket.

Opening it, he saw a message from Pansy.

 _“Merlin, Harry. How did you ever manage to get laid if you’re this awkward?_ ”

His blood ran cold.

While Harry wouldn’t call himself a “hero” or any of the ludicrous titles that had been assigned to him over the years, he would admit (if pressed) that he was a fairly brave sort of person. There wasn’t really _much_ that scared him any more, especially not after facing down fucking _Voldemort_ on a number of occasions.

One of the few things which still terrified him was whenever he figured out that Pansy had a new _target_ to tease him about.

 _“Behind you. To the left. By the bar.”_ Pansy’s next messages were in her characteristic brief style, “ _don’t make it obvious when you turn to look at me, you prat.”_

Thankfully, one of Harry’s few skills he _was_ proud of was his ability to try and catch someone tailing him without others noticing; as he turned to ask Seamus about what Dean was up to in France these days, he flicked his gaze to the bar, and surely enough, spotted his girlfriend sitting there with Blaise and Michel, a _frightening_ smirk on her face.

 _“When did you get here?”_ Harry hurriedly scrawled a reply into his notebook, keeping it close enough to his chest that any potentially-prying eyes wouldn’t be able to read it, “ _why didn’t you say hi?”_

 _“Because.”_ Pansy’s reply came almost immediately, _“Blaise and Michel haven’t even noticed you yet. They’re quite drunk. And I don’t want to explain my presence to Seamus fucking Finnigan._ ”

 _“Save me, then,_ ” Harry pleaded, _“Padma’s already flirting with me, and I don’t know how to get out of this.”_

 _“You’re an idiot.”_ Pansy was _not_ his saviour, _“It’s **far** more fun to watch you squirm.”_

 _She actually took the time to write one of her words in bold,_ Harry realized, _I’m doomed._

“Trouble at work, Harry?” Padma interrupted his thoughts, which was the _last_ scenario that Harry was hoping for.

“Ah, no, nothing to worry about,” he lied, “just, er, talking to a friend.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Padma beamed a smile, “I’m, um,” she dropped her voice lower, to a more private level of volume, “I’m glad you’re doing well, Harry, really. It seems that you’ve come a long way since the time we had together.”

“Heh, uh, yeah,” Harry shrugged, “thanks!”

 _If only you knew,_ he thought. _Hmm, wait, are we being manipulative to Padma?_

The necessity of keeping their relationship hidden had been an automatic assumption that Harry hadn’t thought to question, but he realized for the first time that it _could_ be argued that the trio had intentionally mislead Padma; after all, the fact that he and Pansy both had their own histories with her might have allowed Daphne to manipulate Padma, even if he trusted that she _hadn’t_.

 _Fucking hell,_ he chastised himself, _you **know** that Pansy and Daphne aren’t like that, you’ve been involved in politics for, what, two months, and you’re already seeing plots and schemes everywhere?_

He was spared from the prospect of any further introspection by Seamus standing to his feet, and loudly announcing that it was time to start doing shots. Harry didn’t volunteer to accompany his loud friend to the bar, especially since Padma had been one of the first to do so, and he had _no_ idea how he’d handle her running into _Pansy_ in mere moments.

Another message caused his notebook to vibrate, and this time, it was from Daphne.

_“So, you’ve got yourself in a spot of trouble, Pansy says?”_

_“Help, Daph,”_ Harry pleaded, _“I’ve no idea how to handle this.”_

_“Well…”_

He finished his ale while Daphne continued to write.

_“Do you think we can trust her with our secret?”_

Harry honestly wasn’t sure how to answer Daphne’s question. On the one hand, Padma was a former D.A. member, and he’d trusted her in situations _very close_ to “life or death” before, so the answer seemed like it _should_ be a simple one. On the other, he was already struggling to figure out how he’d handle publicly hiding his relationship while acting as Lord Potter-Black, and opening up any further _complexity_ to that situation raised goosebumps on the back of his neck.

 _To say nothing of the upcoming plans where I have to pretend to be “courting” Susan,_ Harry remembered, _fuck, that’s going to be a fright and a half, right there._

 _“Maybe?”_ Harry replied, _“I really don’t know?”_

Unfortunately, Daphne didn’t seem to reply further, at least before Neville spoke up, breaking Harry out of his brooding.

“Huh,” Neville gestured, “didn’t know that Pansy was here tonight.”

Harry’s friend could speak openly, as the only people left at the table – himself, Ron, and Harry – were all aware of Harry’s relationship with his girlfriend.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Harry shrugged, “wasn’t planned out, but I guess she wound up coming here too.”

“ _Really_ didn’t know that her and Padma are so close,” Neville hummed.

Harry chanced a glance over his shoulder, and, sure enough, Padma and Pansy were speaking to each other, though he couldn’t manage to read their lips from across the bar.

“Uh, I guess?” Harry tried to change the topic, “everyone sort of knows everyone, I suppose. Anyways, Ron, where’s George tonight?”

“Dunno,” Ron shrugged, “he’s always been too clever for his own good, probably figured out that Seamus was planning on getting hitched, somehow, and ditched out before Angie wound up getting any inspiration from it.”

“Ah, uh,” Harry feared he’d uncovered something he shouldn’t have, “they alright?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Ron finished his pint, “y’know George, if he can find some way to annoy her, he’ll carry on with it for as long as he gets away with it. Would drive me right mad, but she seems to love it."

 _Not actually that different than how Pansy and I are,_ Harry realized, and the flush of affection that he felt was enough to briefly calm his nerves.

When Seamus, Parvati, Padma, and company returned with a _staggering_ amount of shots, the burn of liquor down his throat helped to do the rest.

* * *

By the end of the night, it became _very_ clear that Harry’s luck had well and truly run out.

As was fairly normal for the couple, Parvati and Seamus had disappeared at some point, and at least _this_ time they had the sense to wait until they were in private to start stripping each other. Fay Dunbar had left next, then Neville, and finally Ron had got himself drunk enough that Harry had to help him into the Floo and trudge back to pay off Ron’s bill.

Speaking of “Bills”, Lavender had departed shortly afterwards, cheerfully announcing that Bill didn’t want her to stay out too late. Harry still didn’t feel _great_ about that relationship, as there seemed to be some unsettlingly _controlling_ aspects of Bill Weasley making themselves known, but it also seemed as if Lavender was entirely in favour of that dynamic, so who was he to judge?

This, of course, left Harry and Padma as the last people from their table remaining, and before Harry could make up an excuse to escape, Padma saw right through this effort and cut him off.

“Let’s get a drink, Harry,” she practically _purred,_ “we should talk, you and I.”

Before he could stammer out some kind of reason that he _shouldn’t_ talk to her, she’d actually grabbed him by the hand and begun to lead him across the room to the bar, where – _sure enough, damn it –_ Pansy had apparently found herself similarly the last remainder of her own friends.

It only raised his hackles further when Padma dragged him directly towards Pansy, and Harry flopped into the seat next to his girlfriend, whose grin was positively _predatory_ at noticing his discomfort.

“Potter,” Pansy greeted him, “isn’t this an unfortunate surprise.”

“Parkinson,” Harry did his best to maintain the whole ‘hostile and yet oddly friendly’ dynamic that he and Pansy presented to the public, “any surprise involving you tends to be, yes.”

“Ah, such tension,” Padma teased, before ordering three drinks, “you know, I was actually thinking of trying to make a bit of a contest out of seeing which one of you would take me home tonight, but I’ve simply no patience for those sorts of games.”

“I, uh,” Harry’s brain, once more, shut down for a moment, “pardon?”

“After all,” Padma pushed the drinks towards Harry and Pansy, then _clink_ ed her glass against theirs in a quick cheers, “I suppose that it would be inappropriate to interject myself, at least until I determine if Daphne approves or not.”

_Uh?_

“Daphne?” Harry was lucky that his bafflement was genuine, “uh, what?”

“I’ll admit,” Padma smirked at him, “it actually took me longer to put together than I suppose that it _should_ have, but, well, I’m confident that the three of you,” she gestured to Harry and Pansy, then vaguely in the air, “are, hmm, _involved_.”

“Interesting theory,” Pansy’s voice was _sharp,_ a tone that Harry hadn’t heard from her since Hogwarts, “but this sort of speculation could prove _dangerous_ for anyone who might think of making it public.”

“Oh, I figured _that_ part out ages ago,” Padma was entirely unbothered, “why do you think I waited for everyone else to leave before I made my move?”

A beat passed as Harry tried to wrap his brain around what was transpiring, and failed.

“…fucking Ravenclaws,” Pansy muttered, before draining her drink in a single swig.

“So, shall we?” Padma’s smile was far too innocent for how thoroughly she’d seen through the trio, “perhaps Harry’s place?”

“Mmm,” Pansy tapped her nails against the edge of the bar, “Harry, I think you should go home now.”

“Uh, yeah, alright,” Harry couldn’t figure out _what_ was happening here.

“You might have a guest tonight, after all,” Pansy turned to him, smirking, and he realized once again how much _better_ than him she was at handling these sorts of situations.

“Right, um, g’night, Padma,” as he stood, he made an effort to _not_ make it obvious that he was fleeing, “pleasant as always, Parkinson.”

* * *

When he arrived back at 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry began to pace around his living room in confusion as soon as he set foot in his house, his rising panic interrupted by a familiar voice interjecting.

“So,” Daphne spoke, as she entered the room, “sounds like you two had an interesting night, by the message Pansy just sent me?”

“Apparently,” Harry grumbled, “I’m no good at this whole ‘secrecy’ thing, so, uh, if I fucked something up…”

“Harry,” his girlfriend cut through his rant by closing the distance to him, then embraced him tightly from behind, “you haven’t. I promise.”

His fireplace roared to life a moment later, the green flames swirling and revealing the familiar forms of Pansy _and_ Padma.

“Well, hello again, Padma,” Daphne’s voice was a bit cool, but Harry noticed a hint of _intrigue_ hiding in it, “it seems that the four of us should have a talk, yeah?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Padma just grinned proudly, “your secret is safe with me, but I _do_ want to say that I’m _impressed,_ honestly.”

“Er?” Harry couldn’t figure that out.

“Quite!” Padma sat on his couch, apparently feeling comfortable in his home even years after she’d last visited, “this sort of relationship makes a lot of sense for you, especially, Harry! It’s nice to see! I’m actually quite pleased to discover that the three of you are together, the more I think about it, the better an idea it seems!”

“And how, exactly, did you _discover_ this?” Pansy didn’t seem quite as _intrigued_ as Daphne did, at this point, “again, this is far from public knowledge, and it could actually be a _problem_ if it gets out.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it _too_ much,” Padma’s words were as rapid as ever, “after all, I have a fairly unique perspective, I think, given that I’ve slept with all three of you. Which, actually, I’m particularly interested in discussing; when I saw Daphne the other night, I believe that this was the first involvement I had with one of you _after_ you three got together, which is actually _not_ what I would have expected.”

“How’s that?” Daphne asked, but she seemed to handle this development with the most grace out of the three of them.

“As I mentioned, I’m quite interested in non-conventional forms of relationships,” Padma continued, “while a three-person relationship is already atypical by many standards, one that also involves some form of non-exclusivity is even more unique!”

“You still haven’t explained how you figured it out,” Pansy grumbled, wandering towards Harry’s bar, “was it just because you shagged Daphne?”

“That certainly helped,” Padma shrugged, “would you mind fixing me a drink as well? Thanks! But no, if it reassures the concerns that any of you three feel, I don’t think that there are many other people who could have determined the truth of your connection to each other, even if they were aware of the same information that I was.”

“Ah,” Harry murmured, “is it because I was being weird tonight?”

“That _was_ a point I considered,” Padma winked to show she was teasing him, “but no, my suspicions were first roused by Daphne, actually.”

“Oh?” Daphne seemed quite curious about this.

“In terms of things that other people might have noticed,” Padma accepted a glass from Pansy, who had surprisingly met her request for a drink, “I found it rather curious that Daphne used gender-neutral pronouns to refer to the person she was involved with. While I considered that she may have meant someone who didn’t adhere to the binary concept of gender, it began to make a lot more sense if she referred not to _a_ person, but to _people_ that she was in a relationship with.”

“Your fucking etiquette,” Pansy’s words were harsh, but her tone was fond, “must you be such a _decent_ person, Daph?”

“That realization related to some of my particularly _specialized_ knowledge,” Padma was undeterred from continuing her explanation, “when I caught sight of Daphne’s magical presence at her art show, hmm, I noticed that she has _two_ significant _contributions_ to her personal magic. One of which seemed awfully familiar to me, as it turned out.”

“Just one?” Pansy smirked, “what, it wasn’t _magical_ for you, when we fucked?”

“Oh, Pansy, I had a lot of fun with you in Milan,” Padma smirked back at her, apparently completely able to handle Pansy’s _moods_ , “but I didn’t quite get inside your _magic_ the way that I did with Harry.”

“Is it, uh, the bond that you mentioned, back then?” Harry winced, realizing that it might have sounded like he was confessing some form of love for Padma, “you did say, er, it wasn’t that big a deal?”

“It isn’t,” Padma confirmed, “and unless you’ve made a habit out of performing intimate magic rituals with any other people who also have niche academic interests in the nature of magic, I’d think it rather unlikely that many other people would notice.”

“How’d you place me, then?” Pansy sat down beside Daphne, “I can understand the _nerdy_ Ravenclaw ‘I study obscure forms of magic’ angle helping you to figure out that Daphne and Harry are connected, but I’m almost _offended_ that my own subterfuge was so lacking.”

“Ah, that,” Padma sipped her drink, “again, if I hadn’t had a past involvement with you, I doubt I would have noticed it, but I caught a thread of your magic on Harry’s jacket tonight. Once I sniffed that out, everything pretty much fell into place.”

“So, uh,” Harry finally flopped down into a chair, “the three of us aren’t being too, well, obvious about our relationship, then?”

“I’m hardly the expert in matters of social duplicity,” Padma shrugged easily, “but unless the three of you have made a _habit_ out of hiding your relationship from people that one of you has sex with, I don’t think that it should be an issue. Although…” she tapped one of her fingers against her lips, “now that I look back on tonight, it _was_ actually fairly obvious that you and Harry were sending messages to each other, Pansy.”

“Fuck,” Pansy cursed, “that’s your fault, Harry. Stop being so entertaining, damn it.”

“Anyways,” Padma placed her glass down on the table in front of her, “I’m _also_ in a unique position to know that Harry has two girlfriends, so that knowledge helped me to put the whole thing together at the end. Which reminds me, sorry for ignoring you, Harry, I just didn’t want to intrude, before I realized that your, hmm, metaphorical ‘doors’ are open.”

“How’d you know that?” Harry wondered, “has Parvati figured it out too?”

Padma actually giggled at this question, and for some reason, Pansy rolled her eyes at him.

“Hardly!” Padma leaned back in her seat, entirely comfortable, “ _that_ knowledge came from another source, actually.”

“Who?” Daphne wondered.

“Ah, I’m afraid I have some secrets of my own,” Padma smiled slyly, “but I can promise you three that she’s not interested in exposing you.”

 _Hermione?_ Harry put the pieces together.

“And no, it’s not Hermione,” Padma almost seemed to read his mind, “ _she’s_ been nothing but secretive about you, actually, Harry, which again only raised my suspicions entirely _because_ I had a pre-existing connection to you and Pansy both.”

“So,” Pansy clicked her nails against her glass, “what _is_ all this, then? You’ve puzzled out our secret, very good, ten points to Ravenclaw, et cetera, but why the whole song and dance about revealing that you know?”

“Oh, right!” Padma toyed with a lock of your hair, “well, since Daphne and I closed off the missing connection between myself and the three of you, I’m fairly certain that any potential _magical_ concerns should be fully addressed at this point, which leaves my personal interest.”

“Mm?” Pansy’s eyes lit up with a glint of something that was much more _interested_ than she had been.

“I should preface this with the disclaimer that I don’t want to presume anything, and I’m not quite certain what the specific nature of your particular form of non-monogamy entails,” Padma turned so that she was facing in the general direction of all three of the trio, “as well, I’m leaving town again in a couple days, so there’s no need to worry that I’m attempting to interject myself into your relationship, but, hmm, the three of you may all recall that I’m particularly interested in new experiences?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, as Daphne nodded across from him.

“Well, I’ve never had a foursome,” Padma smiled widely, “and I’m _quite_ interested in exploring that possibility, if you three are.”

 _Fuck,_ Harry realized, as the glint in Pansy’s eyes grew into a veritable inferno, at the same time as Daphne’s gaze darkened with lust when she turned to him, _I thought I was in trouble before, when I believed that Padma was flirting with **me**. _

_I’m **really** in trouble now that I know she’s flirting with **us**. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been kind of stuck on this series lately, as I've been starting to feel like I *probably* should have ended this installment after the Winter Solstice Gala and included the chapters surrounding Padma in the next installment (as originally intended), but I'm going to do my best to wrangle things back on track even if there's been a bit of an interruption to the flow of the plot introduced by this change of publication scheme. 
> 
> This actually turned into a pretty fun chapter to write, since Harry's utter confusion at any complicated social situation is just amusing to me, especially when compared to his hyper-competence in the more explosive aspects of Wizarding society.
> 
> Another fun little aspect for me was the ending segment, where the trio are contrasted against someone who's both outside their relationship and yet kind of within some of their boundaries, and I'm hoping that it came across the way I intended, where the three close ranks and become a united front when they felt (briefly) threatened - I _intend_ for them to all feel like very distinct people, and yet the three should feel as if they're basically identical to each other in certain contexts.
> 
> I _also_ hope that Padma is coming across the way I mean her to: she has strong similarities to each of the three, and yet she's just fundamentally _different_ from any one of the trio. 
> 
> As always, comments, reviews, and general feedback is very much welcome - readers letting me know that they're still interested in this series helps me to maintain my own passion for writing it, so I'm hoping that this chapter especially helps to resolve some of the parts that people _haven't_ liked as much lately.
> 
> I'm going to aim to wrap up this installment - (Revel)ations - within the next few chapters, and then get back into the overarching political plotline in the next installment, Blood and Bones.


	19. Orgy (Daphne/Pansy/Harry/Padma)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a variety of different responsibilities approaching, the trio spend their last free night for a while together, with the very welcome addition of a surprise guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure smut with a few little bits of plot scattered throughout - for those readers who want to avoid content featuring anyone outside the trio, I'd say this chapter _should_ be safe to skip, if you want

Pansy

Her heart thrummed in her chest in excitement as Pansy reclined on a seat in Harry’s bedroom. The pace of her heartbeat could, admittedly, be partially explained by the potion that she’d taken, a potent mix of Disinhibition Draught, Stamina Potion, Elixir of Euphoria, and some good old-fashioned stimulants.

She’d already set out to have a _great_ time tonight, and the unexpected addition of a fourth party to these _celebrations_ only enhanced her anticipation. Of course, she’d shared her acquisition with her partners _and_ Padma, a party ritual which brought to mind memories of doing Muggle drugs during some of her more _exuberant_ evenings.

 _Hmm, I wonder when_ that _changed,_ Pansy mused; while she wasn’t intentionally setting out to “clean up her act” or anything like that, she’d been getting steadily less _adventurous_ with different substances the longer that she dated Harry and Daphne, to the point that she didn’t even count as a regular smoker any more, a somewhat surprising development for her.

Any further introspection was cast aside in favour of watching this _other_ surprising development unfold: while things had yet to _really_ kick off, the change in locale of this little gathering was surely an indicator that it wasn’t far off, to say nothing of the _proximity_ of Daphne and Padma as the blonde inspected Padma’s tattoos in the middle of Harry’s bedroom.

Padma had certainly changed a bit since Pansy had last seen her; the brunette was more stylish than she’d been in Milan, with dyed streaks in her hair, wearing an eye-catching yellow blouse over a grey skirt, the gap between the two pieces exposing just a hint of Padma’s torso. If Padma had been on the “curvy” side when Pansy had encountered her in Italy some years ago, she was _undeniably_ in that category now; she had wide hips, full breasts, and a general softness to her build while maintaining a mostly-flat stomach.

The tattoos which Daphne was presently so enamoured by were another change which Pansy approved of. While she didn’t have much interest in the various magical applications which Padma was explaining, the whirls of black ink (magical, mundane, and henna alike) covering Padma’s arms from fingertips to elbows were an addition which _worked_ for her.

Pansy sat up in her seat when she noticed Daphne’s hands linger on Padma’s waist, eagerly anticipating the moment when _someone_ would make the first move.

“You’re gorgeous,” Daphne murmured, just loudly enough that Pansy could make out the words.

“So are you,” Padma replied, bringing her own hands to Daphne’s waist.

Pansy sucked in a breath as Daphne leaned down to kiss Padma, her heartbeat getting _faster_ as she watched this take place. She carefully monitored her own thoughts, waiting to see if a spike of jealousy or uncertainty appeared, but instead she found that she was filled with _impatience_ more than anything else; Pansy _very much_ wanted to see her girlfriend continue to kiss Padma.

 _Well, I can confirm that this is, in fact, a kink of mine,_ she supposed, as she felt heat building in her belly.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate once they began, in short order Daphne and Padma were outright _snogging_ each other in the middle of the room, and Pansy heard Harry release a shaky sigh beside her. She glanced over at him, and was delighted to see that his own gaze was similarly free of worry or jealousy, her boyfriend had a look on his face of _fascinated_ interest which must have resembled her own.

When the two women had fallen into Harry’s bed, Daphne astride Padma, Pansy made no effort to resist her own impulses, as she shimmied her own skirt off, before beginning to run her fingers over the front of her panties, feeling her own heat radiating from between her legs.

“Enjoying the show?” Daphne teased, as she sat up to pull her shirt off, revealing the pale blue bra she wore underneath.

“Of course,” Pansy hissed, glancing over at her boyfriend. Harry hadn’t quite been as blatant as she was, but he was shifting in his own seat, one of his hands idly palming over his crotch as his gaze _smoldered_ while watching Padma and Daphne.

Pansy didn’t hesitate to reach across to Harry, deftly flicking his belt open and unzipping his fly, before her hand darted under his waistband to grasp his mostly-hard cock. Without turning her gaze from the display in front of her (where Padma had also removed her shirt, revealing a set of cream-coloured lingerie that looked _great_ against her brown skin), Pansy slowly began to stroke Harry’s member.

Without needing to ask him, Harry’s hand crept between her legs, teasing over the surface of her panties before he pushed his own digits under the fabric, running one of his fingertips along her _soaking_ entrance. Pansy practically _whimpered_ when he slowly inserted his finger inside her, pushing her hips forward needily as they continued to watch Daphne and Padma stripping one another.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, “you’re right, that _is_ hot.”

Pansy merely smirked as she continued to lazily pump Harry’s cock, pausing at times to appreciate the _heft_ of his manhood in her hand. She felt him twitch in her grip when Daphne had lifted Padma’s hips to _tear_ her skirt off, and in turn Pansy moaned when Harry pushed his fingers deeper inside her as they watched Padma latch her mouth onto one of Daphne’s nipples.

She pulled her own shirt off (though the sheer mesh hardly counted as a “shirt”, really), gripping one of her own breasts and groaning as she watched Daphne’s hand disappear between Padma’s legs, the blonde’s delicate fingers pumping in a way which could _only_ mean that her girlfriend had begun to finger-fuck the brunette witch.

Harry seemed just as excited by this show, if the way he stiffened _further_ was one indicator, then the way he began to hook his finger up inside Pansy’s pussy was another. She ground her hips against his hand, realizing that if things kept going this way for much longer, she might actually come before she even left her seat.

_Well, that’s not exactly what I have in mind._

“I think it’s time we join in, don’t you?” she smirked, at Harry, who returned her expression with a smirk of his own, as he started to kick his trousers off.

While her boyfriend was occupied, Pansy made her way to the dresser at the side of the bed, retrieving a familiar object from within. She removed the last remnants of her clothing before she slid the harness of her magical strap-on over her legs, muttering the incantation to activate its particular charms when it was in place.

She felt the tingling sensation spread through her sex as the spell bound the artificial phallus to her; while she doubted that it _quite_ managed to simulate the feelings that having a cock would, the way that the magic wrapped around her clit and sent very _convincing_ pulses through her body as she stroked the toy’s length was undoubtedly close enough for her purposes.

Pansy crawled into the bed behind Daphne, where her girlfriend and Padma had wound up in a position where they lay on their sides, face-to-face, their hands busy between each others’ legs.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Pansy murmured, turning Daphne’s face towards her own, slipping her tongue into Daphne’s mouth and smothering the moaned response that the blonde attempted. Pansy then leaned over her girlfriend’s shoulder, kissing Padma next, who met her own efforts with considerably more _boldness_ , their tongues duelling against each other before Pansy finally won the contest and pushed past Padma’s lips.

She slid one of her hands over Daphne’s side to squeeze Padma’s breast, and realized (with considerable enthusiasm) that Padma’s tits were probably a bit bigger than her own at this point.

 _Daphne’s got to be thrilled,_ she thought with a smirk, recalling her girlfriend’s particular weakness for busty women.

Harry made his own appearance, taking the spot opposite Pansy behind Padma, and he too chose to lean in to kiss Daphne first, then Pansy herself, followed by the fourth guest in their bedroom. The sight of her _boyfriend_ kissing another woman was just as thrilling to Pansy as her _girlfriend_ doing the same had been, and not wishing to wait any longer, Pansy repositioned herself behind Daphne, angling the strap-on up between Daphne’s legs.

The vibrations along her clit when she slid the toy inside Daphne’s pussy were _delightful_ , and both Pansy and Daphne moaned together when Pansy immediately began to rock her hips against her girlfriend’s arse. The position didn’t allow for much _force_ behind her thrusts, but she intended to make up for it with _enthusiasm_.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Padma moaned across from her, “fuck, I forgot how big you are, Harry. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a man, actually…”

“Fucking _wreck_ her, Harry,” Pansy ordered, delighted that her boyfriend had taken the initiative to start fucking Padma while Pansy did the same to Daphne.

“Yes _please_ ,” Padma whined, before her words were cut off by Daphne’s lips.

 _Four people is a bit trickier to position,_ Pansy mused, _but this sure fucking works._

The tangle of limbs and bodies in the bed _could_ have been awkward, but with Pansy and Harry pressing the two women between them against each other, they quickly established a rhythm; it was undeniable evidence of the _chemistry_ that the trio possessed that Harry and Pansy began to synchronize their thrusts, while Padma and Daphne kissed each other, smushed against one another breast-to-breast.

One of Harry’s hands came over to squeeze Daphne’s arse, which jiggled against Pansy’s hips, while Pansy in turn slid her hand between Padma and Daphne’s tits, squeezing and fondling both women and appreciating the benefits of adding a _third_ witch into their bedroom activities.

Pansy lifted one of her legs, hooking it around all three of the others and locking her heel under Harry’s hips, taking advantage of the leverage to pull herself harder and harder against Daphne, audible _slaps_ echoing through the room accompanying the sound of Daphne’s increasingly urgent moans.

“I bet you,” Pansy muttered between thrusts, “I’ll make Daph cum before you get Padma off.”

“That so?” Harry teased her, propping himself up and repositioning his hand from Daphne’s arse onto Padma’s hips, “what’s your wager?”

Pansy let a moan of her own loose when one of Padma’s hands snaked around Daphne’s chest to pinch _her_ nipple, leaning past her girlfriend’s blonde hair to bite Padma’s lip in retaliation.

“I bet you,” Pansy continued, after disengaging from this pleasant distraction, “whichever one of us makes the other two cum first gets a _reward_.”

Harry craned his neck towards her, kissing her deeply, even as Pansy felt the ripples of his own powerful thrusts _through_ Padma, then Daphne.

“Deal,” he murmured huskily, and then his free hand latched onto the leg she’d swung over him, the pair using each other to begin well and truly _fucking_ each of the women they were inside.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck,”_ Daphne cried, and when Pansy trailed her fingers down between her girlfriend’s legs, she found that Padma’s own digits were already there, toying with Daphne’s clit as Pansy fucked her with the strap-on.

 _Round one to me,_ Pansy smirked, as Daphne came _loudly_ , moaning wordlessly and throwing her head back into Pansy’s shoulder. _Not that I’m going to make it_ that _hard on you…_

Pansy turned her wrist, pushing her fingers against Padma’s clit this time, feeling Harry’s cock pistoning in and out of the brunette just below her touch. When Pansy pressed inwards and moved her fingertips in small circles, _and_ Harry leaned in to suck at the side of Padma’s neck, it was enough to secure his first “win” in this impromptu contest, as Padma came with a _whine_.

“Fuck,” the brunette woman muttered, “you three are… _really_ good at this.”

 _Fuck yes, we are,_ Pansy thought triumphantly.

She slid her strap-on out of Daphne, who rolled onto her back as Pansy pulled free, panting for breath with a wide smile on her face.

“Let’s switch!” Pansy commanded, turning her gaze to Padma, who similarly already looked well-fucked and satisfied.

_Oh, we’re just getting started._

* * *

Harry

He hesitantly withdrew from Padma’s tight, _hot_ pussy, leaning across the brunette to kiss Daphne quickly, before Harry propped himself up on his knees.

Harry recognized the _gleam_ in Pansy’s eyes, across the bed from him, and felt somewhere between “excited” and “terrified” in response. His dark-haired girlfriend had always been the _kinkiest_ out of the three of them, and he could already tell that Pansy had all sorts of _ideas_ of how to take advantage of Padma’s presence in their bedroom.

It was strange, in a way, how this almost felt _natural_ to Harry: perhaps it was because he’d somehow managed to become used to the idea of regularly having threesomes with two beautiful women, but he was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t already cum simply from the thrill of having _three_ women in his bed at once.

Following their orgasms, Padma had rolled over onto her front, while Daphne now reclined on her back, but otherwise, the two women remained side-by-side on the bed. Harry took a moment to appreciate their figures; Padma had a round, full arse, and while Daphne still had her beat on that particular front, Harry was struck by the impression that the former Ravenclaw had somehow become _more_ attractive since he’d last seen her.

Pansy knee-walked over to him, pulling his face down against hers and snogging him _aggressively,_ before swatting at his arse and nudging him towards the head of the bed.

“Mmm,” Pansy murmured, reaching down to take a whole _handful_ of Padma’s arse, “you know, Padma, I was thinking…”

“Hmm?”

“I seem to recall,” Pansy shifted her legs, straddling the backs of Padma’s thighs, her magic strap-on practically _glistening_ as it jut from her hips, “there was a certain missed opportunity last time, wasn’t there?”

“D’you know what she means?” Daphne asked, as Harry shuffled up beside her, enjoying the view of Pansy perched atop Padma.

“I’ve got a guess,” Harry admitted, as he reached between Daphne’s legs. She cooed pleasurably, but grabbed his wrist.

“I need a minute or two, apparently I cum _hard_ with that potion,” Daphne explained, “lean back, yeah?”

Harry smiled and did just that, and Daphne rolled over as if she were laying with her head in his lap, almost innocent except for the way that her mouth immediately wrapped around the tip of his cock.

“Mmm,” Harry ran his fingers lovingly through her hair, “from what I recall, Pans and Padma share a certain kink…”

Pansy looked up and winked at him dramatically, before she leaned over to retrieve her wand from the bedside table.

“ _Lubricatus,_ ” she murmured at the strap-on she wore, coating it in slickness and confirming Harry’s suspicions for her intent.

“Ooh,” Padma tilted her hips up towards Pansy, “I remember what you mean. Yes, I’m still _very much_ in favour.”

Harry tapped the side of Daphne’s head, catching her attention.

“You’ll wanna watch this,” he smirked.

Without warning, Pansy plunged her head down to Padma’s arse, her hands coming down on the woman’s dark skin with a _slap_ , before Pansy practically _shoved_ her face between Padma’s full cheeks.

“Yesss,” Padma hissed, looking up at Harry and Daphne with lust in her eyes, “fuck, one of you come over here, please? Keep my mouth busy while your girlfriend _eats_ my arse?”

 _She’s just as talkative as ever,_ Harry thought, amused, _that’s also pretty hot._

Daphne rolled off his lap, nudging his hips to indicate that he should be the one to fulfill this request, which Harry was entirely happy to oblige. He crawled forward, kneeling in front of Padma’s face (which was almost pressed into the mattress from how she lay prone), and Daphne embraced him from behind, reaching around to guide his cock to Padma’s lips.

“Fuck,” Daphne whispered in his ear, before licking it, “I _love_ watching you get your cock sucked.”

Harry, as it turned out, was _also_ a big fan of this. The angle at which he crouched over Padma didn’t exactly allow for her to take him deep into her throat, but from what Harry recalled, Padma wasn’t much of a fan of that anyways; the way that she eagerly sucked and licked around the head of his cock more than made up for it.

“ _Lubricio Penetrata,_ ” Pansy practically spoke the spell _into_ Padma’s arse, and judging from the moan that Harry felt vibrate along his cock, Padma had maintained her interest in anal play that they’d discovered when Harry had first slept with her.

“Oh, _morgana,_ ” Daphne moaned, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Pansy pushed the strap-on inside Padma’s arse slowly, straddling over her hips from behind, and the sight of her thighs sandwiching Padma’s round arse between them was, indeed, one of the hottest things that Harry could remember seeing.

The way that Padma’s arse jiggled under Pansy when his girlfriend began to thrust in earnest? Also up there.

Padma, meanwhile, was apparently enjoying this more than either Harry or Daphne’s considerable enjoyment of watching it happen, as she basically forgot to keep sucking his cock, but fortunately (for Harry) Daphne had stepped in to take over, slowly stroking him with an arm wrapped around his hips.

“You know,” Daphne whispered to him, a sly note in her voice, “the strap-on that Pansy’s wearing…”

“Mm?”

“It leaves her pussy open,” Daphne nipped at the side of his neck, “I think you’re about to lose your little contest with her, otherwise…”

Harry leaned back to kiss Daphne, smirking against her lips. The suggestion was clear to him, and he _always_ enjoyed the little games of “who’s in control right now?” that Pansy and Daphne tended to play with each other.

He took a moment longer to appreciate the vision of Pansy straddling Padma’s hips, the strap-on disappearing into Padma’s arse with quick, aggressive thrusts, Pansy’s tits jiggling as she was completely lost in her own activity. Harry shifted towards the end of his bed, repositioning so that he was crouched behind Pansy and Padma, before he closed the distance, pressing himself against his girlfriend’s back.

“As it happens,” Harry teased, holding Pansy in place by wrapping both his arms around her, “I notice that you’re pulling ahead, can’t have that, can we?”

He pushed her forward, so that instead of crouching upright, she now lay against Padma’s back, both women prone against his bed. Grabbing Pansy’s hips, Harry noticed that Daphne’s advice was entirely correct: the straps of the magical toy that Pansy wore split so that they did absolutely _nothing_ to obstruct her glistening pussy from his sight.

Without warning, Harry shoved his cock inside her, causing his girlfriend to stiffen up and _whine_ in response.

“I didn’t say you had to stop,” Harry murmured into her ear, glancing up to Daphne at the head of the bed, who had started to reposition herself in turn, spreading her legs wide and sliding her hips down towards Padma’s face.

Pansy just whined again, before her hips started to move in short, jerky motions. Harry realized that, thanks to the magic of the toy she was using on Padma, Pansy had been getting her _own_ stimulation out of fucking Padma’s arse, and now that he’d hilted his own cock inside Pansy, she might well be close to _overwhelmed._

 _Good_ , he thought, smirking.

Harry began to thrust into Pansy every time her own hips moved forward, and before long, his girlfriend had become practically _paralyzed,_ slumped on her hands and knees overtop of Padma’s back, while Harry took over fucking for _both_ of them.

* * *

Daphne

Daphne was enraptured by the sights before her; first, Pansy straddling Padma’s curvy hips and then fucking her _arse_ with no hesitation had proved that she enjoyed watching her girlfriend fuck another woman, then Harry moving behind Pansy and fucking _her_ only reinforced how much Daphne liked watching her two partners together.

The way that they’d seamlessly shifted dominance, from Pansy taking control of Padma into Harry controlling _both_ only added to Daphne’s appreciation, she felt an odd sort of _pride_ at how her partners just worked with each other so smoothly, as if the sexual chemistry alone served as a demonstration of how well the three fit together.

Then again, Daphne only had moments to appreciate the spectacle before she inevitably found herself drawn back into it as a _participant_.

“Daphne,” Padma’s voice came out husky, almost short-of-breath, “come here, please, I want to go down on you,” she moaned, “I want your _cunt_.”

 _Well, I won’t keep her waiting,_ Daphne smirked, sliding down the bed so that her hips came closer to Padma’s face. Apparently, none of their guest’s enthusiasm was feigned in the slightest, as Padma immediately began to _sloppily_ lick Daphne’s sex, her tongue moving in long, slow movements despite the increasing _frenzy_ of the two people behind her.

Looking away from the pleasant sight of Padma’s face between her legs for a moment, Daphne was confronted by an equally-arousing display; Harry had one of his hands wrapped (somewhat) gently around Pansy’s throat, and their dark-haired girlfriend practically _writhed_ in place as her hips spasmed back and forth, sheathing Harry inside herself every time she pulled back, and pumping her artificial cock into Padma every time she thrust forwards.

“Oh!” Daphne cried in surprise, as Padma pressed her legs even further apart, her attentions immediately dropping lower, from Daphne’s pussy to her arse, “mmm, fuck, that’s great,” Daphne might not have been _as_ big a fan as Pansy (and apparently Padma), but in _this_ sort of context, she was hardly going to complain if Padma wanted to rim her.

Daphne started to play with her own pussy, locking eyes with Harry as she ran her fingers over her soaking entrance (Pansy, despite all her efforts to be dominant, had her own eyes half-closed in a lewd expression of lust), arching one of her eyebrows at him when he held up a single finger, as if to say “just wait”.

His intent became clear when he _shoved_ Pansy forwards, so that instead of just barely managing to remain on her hands and knees, she fell entirely into Padma, who groaned _loudly_ as Pansy’s weight drove the strap-on deeper into her. This new position had also brought Pansy’s face just above Padma’s own, and Daphne wasted no time in running her fingers into Pansy’s hair, pressing her girlfriend’s mouth into her “ _neglected_ ” pussy.

“Fuck, yes, you two, keep doing that,” Daphne commanded, though they didn’t exactly need the guidance; Padma had immediately returned to licking her arse, and Pansy was _just_ as enthusiastic when it came to flicking her tongue against Daphne’s pussy.

Sparks of pleasure shot up Daphne’s spine as the two women pleasured her, feeling her second orgasm of the night approaching quickly. Daphne was thankful that the potions that Pansy had passed around had helped to let her last a bit longer at first ( _probably the Stamina component,_ she guessed), but even with this in mind, she had _never_ struggled with reaching orgasm shortly after the previous one.

Harry leaned forwards, propping himself over the two women underneath him, and with one quick gesture, he set off a chain reaction that gave Daphne an entirely new appreciation for just how _good_ he was in the bedroom. First, his hand brushed over Daphne’s own, then his thumb pressed roughly into her clit, flicking upwards. This caused her to cum _hard,_ her hips spasming upwards, and the jet of fluid that sprayed from her pussy made her orgasm _obvious._ When she came on Pansy’s face, Pansy went still, a blush rising on her neck, before _screaming_ her own orgasm, then collapsing bonelessly on top of Padma, who _also_ came with a shout as Pansy wound up driving the strap-on inside Padma with her entire weight.

“Holy fuck, Harry,” Daphne panted for breath, “I think you just made three women cum at once.”

_If that isn’t a boost to his self-esteem, then I have no bloody idea **what** could be._

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, as he pulled out of Pansy and rolled to the side, “that was… _wow_.”

“Fuck,” Pansy reiterated his statement, “we’re just fuckin’ getting started.”

“I think Harry won your contest, didn’t he?” Daphne teased, but _almost_ regretted her choice of words as soon as Pansy rolled off Padma, a _fiery_ gleam of lust in her eyes.

“That he did,” Pansy agreed, before she leaned in to whisper the ‘reward’ she had in mind to Daphne and Padma.

* * *

Harry

He’d been pretty impressed with himself when he had managed to set off all _three_ of his partners for the night in one go, but really, Harry figured that this was just a natural consequence of having such an _intimate_ knowledge of Pansy and Daphne’s preferences, on top of a lingering awareness of what Padma enjoyed.

When Pansy ordered him to sit at the edge of the bed, and all three women proceeded to kneel between his legs, Harry was _just_ smart enough to keep his mouth shut before he protested that this “reward” was too much.

He couldn’t help but think that he’d have to make sure that each of the other three had their own turn as the centre of attention, but for now… Harry was willing to shut up and enjoy their attempt at sucking his cock all at the same time.

His girlfriends had pressed Padma into the middle between them, and the mere sight alone of the three gorgeous women pressing their lips onto different parts of his cock had sent a shock of pleasure through his body, his cock twitching in this oral embrace.

Harry groaned as the three women seemed to make a game out of passing his member between themselves; first Padma bobbed her mouth over the crown of his head, then Daphne slowly sucked him as her head descended halfway down his length, and then finally Pansy made a lascivious show out of pushing his cock into her throat.

His cock visibly throbbed when Pansy lifted free of it with a _pop_ , but with an unspoken agreement, none of the three women relented. Padma dipped her head lower, running her entire tongue over his balls, while Daphne circled her lips around his tip and _sucked_ , her cheeks hollowing, and Pansy planted wet kisses along the side of his manhood.

Pansy encircled her delicate fingers around the base of his cock, keeping it stationary as Daphne began to bob her head more vigorously, while Pansy also lowered her lips to his balls, sucking at one as Padma licked the other. As always (and he _loved_ it about her), Pansy was the proactive one who moved things along towards her intended actions; Harry saw her hand creep to the top of Padma’s head and then push downwards.

“Fffuck,” Harry moaned, as Padma – without hesitation – began to lavish her oral attention along the underside of his ballsack, only to continue even _lower_ , circling her tongue around the rim of his arsehole. While it wasn’t the _first_ time he’d been the recipient of this kind of act, it had never been accompanied by having his balls sucked _and_ a blowjob at the same time, and the lightning bolt of pleasure it sent up Harry’s groin was nearly indescribable.

Harry tried to last for as long as he could under this kind of teamwork, but even the potion running through his body wasn’t enough to stand against the expertise of these three women.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he announced, if it wasn’t obvious enough by the way his cock _swelled_ within Daphne’s lips.

Once more demonstrating their unspoken agreement, Pansy’s head immediately lifted from his balls, and Padma’s face reappeared between his girlfriend’s in turn, her hand coming to lightly fondle his testicles, while Pansy began to stroke at his base, and Daphne replaced her lips with her hand, meeting Pansy’s strokes in time.

He _erupted_ over the three of them, thick jets of cum landing on all three of their faces, a pool of white forming between Padma’s breasts from the sheer _volume_ of his release.

“ _Wow_ ,” Padma breathed, “that’s… _impressive._ ”

Any further commentary was halted by the way that Daphne pulled the other two women into a sloppy, _messy_ three-way kiss, and Harry felt his cock twitch as if he could keep going at the sight of the three witches pawing at each others’ tits while splattered with his cum.

“Well,” Padma was the first to speak again, “I don’t know about you three, but I could use a drink.”

“Absolutely,” Pansy agreed, smacking her lips against Daphne’s once again, “y’want any help with that?”

“I’ll go with you,” Harry volunteered himself, rising to his shaky legs, “least I can offer after _that_ , really.”

“That was your reward, after all,” Daphne teased, leaning her head into Pansy’s shoulder, “you earned it!”

He guided Padma to his kitchen, and helped her retrieve four glasses.

“You’re really doing well for yourself, Harry,” Padma spoke, as he filled the glasses with firewhisky and soda water, hoping that the cocktail was _refreshing_ enough to meet her preference.

“Yeah, I’m, well,” Harry couldn’t find more eloquent words, “I’m really lucky.”

“I think all three of you are, from what I can tell,” Padma smiled at him, and if she felt left out or envious in any way, Harry couldn’t see any evidence of it, “I don’t think that a more ‘conventional’ sort of relationship would have worked for any of you, really, but in addition to that, I think you three have got a rare kind of connection to each other.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “I’m, well, I’m really happy.”

“Good!” Padma smirked as she turned to return to his bedroom, “I’m having a lot of fun too, as it turns out!”

Harry was glad to hear it; while he still wasn’t _quite_ sure how he found himself in this situation, he supposed that anything where all four people involved were enjoying themselves this much _must_ be worth it.

* * *

Pansy

After a short break to have a drink, where Pansy and Harry shared a smoke, Pansy found herself struck by the realization that not only was she long from finished with that night’s activities, but that she was getting even _more_ turned on than she’d been at the start.

The sight of Daphne reclining lazily in the middle of Harry’s bed had been enough to spur her back into action, practically _pouncing_ on her girlfriend and leaning down to kiss her _hard_. Before Daphne could do anything other than make some small, pleased noises, Pansy had immediately moved to the next step she had in mind, swinging her leg over Daphne’s shoulders and pulling her girlfriend into a sixty-nine.

 _Four people’s a bit interesting like that,_ Pansy mused, _it’s not as tricky to pair off for a bit, since the other two can amuse themselves._

Sure enough, when she glanced up from between Daphne’s legs, she saw Harry and Padma kissing at the end of the bed, Harry’s hard cock wrapped in one of Padma’s hands, while his own fingers were busy between her legs.

Pansy _almost_ wished she could keep watching, but didn’t want to remove herself from Daphne’s cunt any time soon, pressing her tongue back into her girlfriend’s slit, thoroughly enjoying the way that Daphne wriggled underneath her (but didn’t stop licking _Pansy_ , either).

It was unexpected when Padma kneeled on the bed beside them, her arse pointed towards the edge, and yet it didn’t seem as if Harry was preparing to fuck Padma. Instead, her boyfriend crouched between Daphne’s spread legs, pulling Pansy’s face away from her pussy in order to pull her up into a deep kiss.

“Mmm,” Pansy murmured her approval, before bringing her hand down to slap Padma’s arse beside her, “you gonna take care of our guest?”

“Actually,” Harry smirked at her when _Padma_ returned the spank, swatting Pansy’s arse, “I think it’s Daph’s turn, yeah?”

“And _I,_ ” Padma brought her _other_ hand down on Pansy’s arse, making her squeal enjoyably as she slumped back down into the sixty-nine with Daphne, “have a favour to repay, hmm?”

Pansy was practically spellbound as she watched Harry push his cock into Daphne’s pussy directly under her eyes, making sure to begin to lick in long, slow strokes which covered both Daphne’s clit and the top of Harry’s cock as he slid in and out of their girlfriend. Padma, meanwhile, leaned over Pansy’s arse, dragging her tongue along one of Pansy’s cheeks before sliding _between_ them to rim her.

Daphne, bless her, moaned enthusiastically, and redoubled her efforts on Pansy even as Harry started to thrust harder, his abdomen bumping into the top of Pansy’s head at times.

Caught between Daphne and Padma’s tongues, Pansy lifted her head to moan, and in the same instant, Harry slid out of Daphne, pushing his cock between Pansy’s open lips. She did her best to suck him, but the sudden display of _assertiveness_ from her boyfriend was arousing on its own, and the two women busy between her legs were an additional stimulus that Pansy couldn’t ignore.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that Harry had two of his fingers pressed into Padma’s pussy as the other woman licked Pansy’s arse from her hands and knees, and all the different _sights_ and _feelings_ collapsed together into a surprisingly-rapid orgasm.

 _Sure, pairing off is fun and all,_ Pansy thought, as she rolled off of Daphne, _but it’s so much more **fun** when there’s all these hands and mouths involved. _

* * *

Daphne

Daphne almost whined in protest when Pansy moved away just after she came, but any complaints were smothered by the seamless way that Padma’s lips moved in to replace Pansy’s _lower_ lips, the brunette woman kissing Daphne in the almost-overwhelming way that was apparently Padma’s style.

Harry continued to thrust without stopping, and Daphne made _another_ distinct whining noise as his cock plunged deep inside her, her eyes widening in arousal when she noticed that he was fucking Padma with his fingers the whole time.

It was obvious that group sex simply held more _possibilities_ than the trio’s usual activities, and Daphne had to admit that she was glad that she’d taken Pansy’s advice after all, and furthermore, that Padma had wound up being an _ideal_ candidate, considering the surprisingly effortless way in which she’d untangled the true relationship between the three.

While Daphne had certainly _enjoyed_ sleeping with Padma one-on-one, that experience was nowhere near as satisfying as sharing a “guest” with her partners, she’d decided.

“Padma,” Pansy ordered from beside Daphne, “come here.”

“Mmm,” Padma protested, “but Harry’s doing _really well_ with his hands, I don’t _want_ him to stop.”

“I’ll take care of you soon,” Pansy was resolute, “I want to give _Daph_ a treat.”

_Oh?_

Daphne propped herself up on her elbows, glancing to her girlfriend in curiosity, only to be met with a faceful of Pansy’s breasts, as her girlfriend pulled Daphne’s face into her chest.

_Oh, fuck yes._

“See, my girl has a thing for tits,” Pansy explained, “and yours are pretty fuckin’ great, Padma.”

“Well, thank you,” Daphne could hear that Padma’s tone had become huskier once again, “so are yours, of course…”

Pansy turned Daphne’s head away from the pillowy prison that she’d been “trapped” in, only to find herself immediately pressed between _Padma’s_ breasts, her moan smothered between the _second_ pair of (definitely) great breasts in their bed.

Daphne lost herself in pleasure as Harry continued to saw in and out of her, while the two women perched at either side of her head murmured encouraging (or teasing) phrases, Daphne’s face pressed between their breasts the whole time. When Pansy turned her face so that Daphne was pinned in the _middle_ of Pansy and Padma’s tits, Daphne shamelessly began to lick and nibble at the soft flesh around her, at one point managing to draw both Pansy _and_ Padma’s pierced nipples between her lips.

“Fuck, that’s a great show,” Harry grunted, and it was the fact that Daphne could _barely_ hear him, surrounded by tits as she was, that caused her building arousal to _snap_ into a sharp orgasm.

“I think she likes this,” Padma hummed, “I’ll admit, I certainly enjoyed seeing Daphne the other night, but it seems like she’s having more fun tonight!”

“We’re best as three, I think,” Pansy agreed, “though I wonder if this poor girl will be content with only _my_ tits from now on.”

Daphne tried to protest that of _course_ she’d be content, but her words were immediately smothered.

“It’s _really_ hot that she squirts,” Padma continued, and Daphne found the apparent ease with which her and Pansy were holding this conversation arousing in a way, as if this casual repartee was a means of Pansy dominating her, “I’ve always found it’s very satisfying to make someone come that hard.”

If Harry had anything to add to this, it seemed to be limited to the way that his thrusts grew harder, more urgent; Daphne could tell that he was starting to approach his own limit.

“I’m _really_ getting a kick out of the way I seem to have turned you halfway into a lesbian,” Pansy teased, “though for someone who’s not fucking blokes any more, you seem to handle a cock up the arse quite well.”

Daphne squeaked as Harry started to _pound_ her, her face bouncing against Padma and Pansy’s breasts even harder.

“Oh, well,” Padma’s tone was equally as teasing, “it doesn’t mean I’m a stranger to _cock,_ of course, your own skill with a strap-on is one example.”

“You getting close, babe?” Pansy asked – presumably – Harry.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “don’t let me distract you.”

“Oh, are you going to come inside her?” Padma released Daphne, leaning back, and Daphne felt herself panting for breath, “are you going to _fill_ her? You came _so much_ earlier, can her tight little _cunt_ even hold it all?”

 _Fuck, she’s good at dirty talk,_ Daphne thought, as Harry seemed to agree. His hips snapped forward, thrusting _deep_ inside of her, and Daphne moaned as she felt him spasm within her pussy.

“Fuck,” Daphne practically _growled,_ “you two put those tongues to use, _now_.”

She reached to grab both Pansy and Padma by the backs of their hair, shoving them down towards her groin. Daphne saw Harry smirk knowingly as he pulled his cock free of her, helping to spread her legs wider with his hands to ensure that she could push _both_ women’s heads into her now- _soaked_ sex.

“Mmmm,” Daphne purred, contentedly, as the two began to lick at her entrance, the angle not quite right to allow them to reach _deep_ inside of her, but certainly more than enough to send shocks through her sensitive flesh.

“Fuck!” Daphne cried, as her next orgasm came fast on the heels of the previous one, and she was pleased to hear small noises of pleasure from Pansy and Padma alike as she drenched them with _her_ cum.

“That’s my sweet’s _other_ big kink,” Pansy drawled, entirely too smug, “now, Padma, I think it’s your turn, isn’t it?”

* * *

Harry

Harry was practically lost in a haze of pleasure at that point, long past the point of “introspection” or any activity requiring his higher brain functions. He’d noticed that Pansy was very clearly taking “control” of their activities, and hadn’t thought to protest when he was _really_ enjoying fucking his girlfriend while watching her get smothered between Padma’s and Pansy’s tits, but he was almost beginning to feel _nervous_ at the maniacal glint in Pansy’s eyes.

When he came back to the bedroom after grabbing a glass of water, Pansy had already positioned Padma back on her hands and knees, her arse arched up into the air _very_ appealingly, three of Pansy’s fingers hooked into her pussy as his girlfriend knelt at Padma’s side.

Daphne lay on Padma’s other side, panting for breath and blushing in the way that indicated she’d had a _really_ good orgasm, but her eyes carried some of the same _mischief_ as Pansy’s did when she looked up to him.

“Harry,” Pansy almost sounded _desperate_ , “get that cock over here.”

 _Happy to be of service,_ he thought, with a smirk crossing his features.

By the time he’d caught sight of the activities happening on his bed, he’d already started to get hard again, but it only took seconds after he crossed the room for Pansy’s quick, efficient strokes of his member to bring him back to his full erection. He planted his hands on Padma’s arse as Pansy angled his cock towards Padma’s dripping pussy, and pushed forward slowly inside her without any further thought.

While Harry would never _compare_ Padma to his girlfriends, one of the unique _differences_ of having sex with her compared to Daphne or Pansy was how _hot_ her body was, the tight, wet heat of her pussy practically _boiling_ for how it felt around his cock.

Pansy reached up to pinch one of his nipples, a wild grin on her face.

“She’s warmed up enough,” Pansy ordered, “now _fuck_ her.”

Daphne crawled over on her hands and knees, leaning over Padma’s arse to watch Harry’s cock plunging in and out of their guest, biting her lip in appreciation. Harry certainly enjoyed the sight as well: Padma’s arse looked _spectacular_ from this angle, and the way her cheeks bounced against his hips with every thrust only added to his enjoyment.

He _could_ have protested when Pansy slipped her hand between him and Padma and slid his cock out of their guest, but when Daphne leaned down to suck his cock, still slick with Padma’s sex, Harry quickly forgot any remnant of that idea.

 _I **really** don’t mind not being the one in charge, _he thought, _if this is how it goes._

He groaned in pleasure as Pansy leaned over Padma’s arse, flickering her tongue against Padma’s rim in much the same way as the other woman had done with _her_ earlier in the night.

“Mmm,” Daphne hummed, releasing Harry’s cock from her mouth, “tilt the other way a bit?”

Pansy did so, and Harry boggled at the sight before him: taking advantage of the way that Padma was bent over, Daphne moved herself into the same position as Pansy on the other side, and _both_ women danced their tongues over Padma’s arsehole for a few moments.

“There,” Pansy announced, apparently satisfied, “I already opened her up earlier, so now it’s your turn, Harry, break her in fucking half.”

Padma made a high-pitched whine that could _only_ be an enthusiastic one, as Pansy spread her arse cheeks _wide_ apart, even pulling her arsehole open a tiny amount.

“Fuck,” Harry couldn’t find anything else to say.

Daphne’s hand flew to his cock, and she eagerly lined Harry’s cockhead up against Padma’s arse, her eyes hooded with lust as she watched the very tip of his member sink inside Padma’s hole.

Pansy chose this moment to slap his arse, her previously-“wild” expression now approaching something close to “feral”.

“I said _fuck_ her!” Pansy pulled Harry towards her, causing two inches of his cock to sink inside Padma’s arse in an instant, “ _ruin_ her!”

“Fucking _do it_ , Harry!” Padma agreed, “fucking _pound_ my arse, _bugger_ me, show me how _hard_ you fuck!”

 _Padma and Pansy definitely feed off each other’s impulses,_ Harry couldn’t help but make this observation, _I’d better get to it before she dreams up something kinkier._

He half-hoped that she would.

Harry groaned as he continued to push forward, inch after inch of his cock disappearing into Padma’s arse until his hips came to rest against her plush cheeks. Pansy took the opportunity to pull Daphne into a heated kiss overtop of Padma’s hips, and judging by the sensations Harry felt around his balls, Pansy had _also_ resumed fingering Padma at the same time.

Inspired, Harry took two firm handfuls of Padma’s arse and started to _thrust_ , knowing that the charm Pansy had cast earlier alleviated any concerns about safety or warm-up for this particular activity. Indeed, the only concerns that Padma voiced were half-slurred demands for him to “ _fuck me harder_ ”, which Harry did his best to fulfill.

He found that the effects of Pansy’s potion had continued to build throughout the night, so while Harry was now building towards his _third_ orgasm of the night, he felt that it was likely to be just as powerful as the first two.

Padma’s arse was even hotter than her pussy, and even with the copious lubrication that Pansy had applied (magical and non-magical alike), the tight, clenching sensation around Harry’s cock was almost _excruciatingly_ pleasurable. As he began to thrust hard enough for his hips to audibly _clap_ against Padma’s, he felt her insides clench and spasm around him, clear evidence that he’d once more managed to make her cum from her _arse_.

“Fuck yes, Harry,” Daphne encouraged him, “pull out when you’re going to cum, okay?”

He grunted instead of forming a more lucid reply, continuing to thrust as hard and as fast as he could, as Padma mumbled a continuous stream of almost _shockingly_ obscene words towards him. It did _not_ take him much longer to approach his orgasm, so he pulled free of Padma’s arse, his member bouncing in the air in time with his heartbeat.

Instantly, Daphne’s hand flew to his cock, while Pansy’s returned to Padma’s arse cheeks, tilting her hips up and spreading her open in front of him as Harry came _hard_. His cum splattered over Padma’s groin and arse, one rope landing _in_ her arsehole, another dripping between the lips of her pussy.

“I told you I’d get him to _ruin_ you,” Pansy smirked, as Padma collapsed on her side with an _extremely_ content sigh.

* * *

Daphne

Things became somewhat of a blur for Daphne by the later parts of the evening, many of the specific acts that the trio and their guest had engaged in blending together into a chaotic jumble of limbs, breasts, _pussy_ , and **_fucking_**. She vaguely recalled sucking Harry’s cock while he went down on Padma, or Pansy sitting on his face while Padma rode him, but only the more _intense_ moments stood out from the sheer _carnality_ of the night.

At one point, she and Padma had both needed to take a break, sitting on the side of the bed and drinking glasses of water until they could _literally_ cool down enough to rejoin Harry and Pansy. Pansy, meanwhile, was _unstoppable,_ a veritable force of lust who seemed like she didn’t slow down for a _minute_.

 _She’s so fucking incredibly hot,_ Daphne was even more impressed by her girlfriend than she had been before, _just… seeing her **unleashed** like this, it’s something amazing._

It was also, perhaps, a little bit scary, but Pansy had managed to fuck her _well_ past the point of being capable of feeling anxious.

Harry was Pansy’s current “victim” at that point, laying flat on his back in the middle of his bed as Pansy _fucked_ his brains out: she was squatted over him with her thighs practically parallel to his torso, lifting and dropping her hips onto his with enough force that Daphne could feel the whole bed shaking.

“Fuck, she’s incredible,” Padma muttered, clearly as impressed as Daphne was.

“She absolutely is,” Daphne agreed.

“Is this… do you three normally go this hard?” Padma wondered.

“This is a bit of a special occasion,” Daphne teased, “what with having a guest and all. But no, we can get fairly intense sometimes, but this is… _wow_.”

“Wow, indeed,” Padma agreed, “hmm, actually, I was wondering, have you brought other people in before? I’m simply curious, of course, I don’t expect you to reveal anything particularly private to me.”

“This is the first time, actually,” Daphne admitted, “it had always been a condition in our relationship, but, well, I suppose it hadn’t come up before now.”

“Ooh!” Padma seemed interested by this, “well, I’m glad that I could be the first, in that case!”

“You two!” Pansy actually _growled_ at them, “come here!”

Daphne and Padma looked at each other, and with matching smirks, crawled back towards Pansy and Harry.

Pansy snaked an arm around each of their backs, pulling Daphne so that she knelt by Harry’s legs on one side, Padma on the other.

“Fingers!” Pansy hissed the command, spreading her thighs for emphasis.

Daphne began to tease at Pansy’s clit, as Padma – uncertain what Pansy was demanding – stroked at the inside of her leg.

“Inside!” Pansy dropped her own hand lower, circling between Daphne’s legs to thrust inside her pussy, doing the same to Padma if the other woman’s gasp of _“ooh!”_ was any indication.

Not sure quite what Pansy intended, Daphne still attempted her best, pushing one of her fingers up along Harry’s cock until it slid inside Pansy’s cunt, with one of Padma’s fingers following as their hands intertwined.

“Fuck, Pans,” Harry whined, as his cock ran along Padma and Daphne’s knuckles, “so tight, fuck.”

Daphne ground her hips back against Pansy’s hand, unable to escape the impression that her girlfriend was managing to fuck three people at once.

“Fuck **yes** ,” Pansy threw her head back in triumph, her breasts bouncing wildly as she began to grind her hips back and forth violently, Harry’s cock _and_ a digit of Padma’s and Daphne’s all inside her pussy at once, “ ** _give it to me_**.”

Daphne shifted her hand so that her finger lay overtop of Padma’s, then _hooked_ their digits forward, grinding against Pansy’s g-spot as Harry’s cock filled the rest of her pussy. With a shrieking, desperate cry, Daphne felt Pansy’s cunt _clench_ around all three of them, her hips spasming and jerking forwards arrhythmically.

“Fucking hell,” Harry groaned, “fuck, gonna cum.”

“Yesssss,” Pansy actually _hissed,_ her hips gyrating wildly even through her own orgasm.

Daphne felt Harry pulse against her finger, and then a flood of fluid filled Pansy’s pussy. As soon as he came, Pansy collapsed bonelessly, propped up by Daphne and Pansy on either side, pulling her fingers from each of the women’s pussies to grab their wrists.

“Holy fuck,” Padma murmured, when Pansy brought hers and Daphne’s fingers to her mouth, wetly licking and sucking Harry’s and her own cum from their digits.

“…yeah,” Daphne agreed, lost for words.

“Do you have a strap-on too?” Padma had a gleam in her eyes almost as bright as Pansy’s had been, “I _really_ need to get fucked again after that, and I think these two are out of commission for a bit.”

As it turned out, Daphne _did_.

* * *

Pansy

_More,_ she thought. _More, more more more._

Later, she’d amuse herself by realizing that her inner dialogue started recreating the song “Rebel Yell”, but in that moment, Pansy’s base instincts had complete and total control over her thoughts.

This had been the most she’d been able to cut loose and indulge every fantasy that came to mind in a _long_ time, ever since some of the earlier times with Harry and Daphne when the three of them would get drunk and have rough sex with each other, and Pansy wondered if it was the addition of a _fourth_ party which had inspired her to these heights (or depths, perhaps).

_Watching Padma and Daphne together? Pretty fucking great. Padma and Harry? Also great. The three of them? Even better. Getting in the middle of all three? Fucking spec-tac-u-lar._

Pansy was well aware that this was a one-time-for-now thing with Padma, and in truth, suspected that she wouldn’t ever be able to date Padma in the same way that she was with Harry and Daphne anyways, but more than anything else Pansy was _driven_ to get every last ounce of pleasure from that evening that she could manage.

 _“Evening” might be pushing it a bit, I suppose,_ she realized, as she spotted faint rays of sunlight beginning to filter through Harry’s windows.

Not that this bothered her. While she was always impressed by Harry’s stamina (which seemed to be growing the longer he dated Daph and herself), she knew that even he had his limits, and even with the aid of the potions they’d taken, seemed to be approaching them.

This, too, didn’t bother her: it merely gave her an excuse to suck his cock back to hardness, while beside them, Daphne fucked Padma with a strap-on.

“Fuck, Pans, you’re insatiable,” Harry tugged his fingers gently through her hair, “I think I’ve only got one more left in me, just so you know.”

“Mmmthat’s fine,” Pansy answered, _popping_ her lips free from his dick, “same for me, actually.”

Not wasting any more time with _conversation_ when there was _fucking_ to do, Pansy leaned over to the bedside table, retrieving her own strap-on which she’d removed earlier in the evening. She shivered as she activated its familiar charms one last time, turning to take in the sight of Daphne and Padma having sex.

Daphne stood at the end of the bed, and Pansy was struck once more by how she appreciated Daphne’s tall, almost _regal_ frame. She had Padma’s legs in her hands as she thrust, both women panting for breath and covered in sweat.

Pansy swaggered over to her girlfriend, smirking as Daphne paused to glance down at the strap-on jutting from Pansy’s groin.

“Hey, Padma?” Pansy asked. She was aware that their guest _might_ not be able to handle what she had in mind, although she had a good feeling about it.

“Yeahh?” Padma gasped for breath in the middle of her reply.

“Think you can take two at once?” Pansy swung her hips for emphasis, slapping the strap-on against the underside of Padma’s thigh.

“Fuck,” Padma and Daphne both paused for a moment, as the brunette woman answered, “fuck, I don’t know. I want to try, but I’m near my limit, I’m afraid.”

“This is the finale,” Pansy answered, nudging Daphne’s legs to get her to step back a bit. As Padma’s legs fell together, Pansy tilted the other woman’s hips, turning her so that she lay on her side, facing in towards the center of the bed where Harry lay.

“ _Lubricatus_ ,” Pansy repeated the lubricating charm, but this time, directed it at the strap-on which Daphne wore. Her girlfriend’s was an earlier model compared to the one Pansy preferred, transmitting sensations from the shaft into the short end of the toy (which was currently inserted into Daphne’s pussy), and this attribute suited Pansy’s ideas _perfectly._ Her own variety was too _sensitive_ for Pansy to be able to handle the part she had in mind for Daphne.

With Padma still on her side, Pansy pushed her knees up towards her chest a bit, bending her hips open, as if she were in doggy-style, but rotated ninety degrees.

“You go first, sweet,” Pansy leaned in to kiss Daphne, a bit of softness before she planned to go _hard_.

“Fuck,” Daphne murmured, “you think this’ll work?” she hesitantly guided her strap-on towards Padma’s arse, and given what Padma had _already_ taken there that night, Pansy was fully certain that she could handle this.

“Mmm,” Padma moaned as Daphne slid inside her, “that’s good, yeah.”

“Okay, now I’m going,” Pansy announced, standing beside Daphne. The angle was a tricky one, and Pansy wasn’t certain it would work with _real_ cocks, but given how their strap-ons remained rock hard no matter what, Pansy figured it was worth a shot.

She was rewarded by being proven correct as her own artificial cock slid into Padma’s pussy, the motion sending shocks of pleasure along her sensitive clit.

“Fuck,” Padma hissed for breath, “that’s a lot. It’s good. Keep going.”

It was _indeed_ “a lot”, Pansy having experienced this kind of double-penetration from her partners on several occasions, although she had to admit that Harry was actually _bigger_ than either of the toys that she and Daphne were using.

It took a moment for her and Daphne to work out a rhythm, eventually landing on movements that saw Pansy pushing forward while Daphne withdrew, and vice-versa.

“Merlin, you’re creative,” Harry muttered, rolling onto his knees to watch this, “I don’t think I’ve ever _heard_ of that position.”

“It was an idea I had,” Pansy moaned, already hyper-stimulated from everything they’d done before this, “Harry, she’s still got one more hole open.”

He looked at her, confused.

“Fuck her _mouth,_ Potter,” Pansy rolled her eyes with mock scorn, the effect ruined somewhat when Daphne tweaked one of her nipples and she squeaked.

The trio set a somewhat languid pace (especially compared to mere minutes before) as each of them slowly thrust a cock (real or artificial) into one of Padma’s orifices, and Pansy absolutely _loved_ this dynamic: it was fun to trade off who was more dominant or submissive between herself and her two partners, but all _three_ of them dominating a fourth woman? _Magical._

Padma, too, seemed to enjoy this treatment, as she moaned softly around Harry’s cock.

Despite the slow pace, the _tightness_ of Padma’s pussy (especially with Daphne’s strap-on in her arse) and Pansy’s sensitivity were enough to guarantee that this last hurrah wouldn’t last too long. After merely a minute or two, Pansy felt her own motions becoming erratic, her strokes into Padma’s pussy shorter, shallower than she’d started out with.

“Hey,” Daphne murmured beside her, “c’mere.”

Pansy leaned her head up to kiss her girlfriend, their tongues sliding against each other as they continued their careful see-saw motion, and Daphne’s soft hand coming up to squeeze Pansy’s breast was the last bit of pleasure that she needed to reach her final climax for the night.

Daphne, too, shuddered and made a high, whining noise as she came shortly after, and the girlfriends slowly pulled their toys out of Padma, who twitched and jerked as they did so in a way which meant that _she’d_ also found her pleasure in this experiment.

Pansy flopped onto her back, her face coming to rest just beside Padma’s, watching Harry slowly pump his length into their guest’s mouth. She idly stuck her tongue out to lick along the underside of his cock, noted how his legs quivered beside her head, and reached up to begin stroking the him at the base.

After she recovered, Daphne lay on top of Pansy, making her twitch as the strap-on she still had attached bumped against Daphne’s belly, as Daphne started to focus on the top half of Harry’s cock that wasn’t in Padma’s mouth.

“Fuck, you three are amazing,” Harry groaned, “I’m really close.”

“You two can finish him,” Padma decided, popping free of his member, “I’m not actually the biggest fan of cum, and I’m all fucked out at this point.”

To Pansy, this sounded like the perfect end to the evening, and when Harry spilled himself into both hers and Daphne’s mouths, she hummed contentedly, lazily kissing her girlfriend before Daphne rolled to the side.

“Well, that was… quite incredible, really,” Padma was the first to speak as all four tried to return to reality, “I am _rather_ glad that I was able to share that experience with you three.”

“Same,” Daphne stretched lazily, curling against Pansy’s side.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry chuckled, his eyes half-closed, “you sticking around, Pads?”

“Well, it seems like the question of whether or not I should stay the night,” Padma gestured at the windows, where dawn had broken, “has basically been answered already! So, no, while that was _very_ good, I’ve got to be getting back to my hotel, I’m leaving town again pretty soon, after all.”

“Yeah? Where're you off to next?” Harry asked sleepily.

“Norway, actually,” Padma yawned, thoroughly worn out at this point, “there’s some aspects of their system of Runic magic that I wish to investigate.”

 _I haven’t anywhere_ near _the brainpower left to process that,_ Pansy thought.

“Well, I’ll see you out, yeah?” Harry lifted himself from the bed, “how’re you two?”

“Brilliant,” Daphne sighed happily, “that was great, Padma, perhaps we can do it again some time.”

“Perhaps,” Padma smirked, “who knows when I’ll be back in town, but, yeah, I’ll say hi when I am.”

“Sounds great,” Pansy slurred, as she realized that she was very much on the edge of falling asleep, “that _was_ fun.”

“Right,” Padma rose from the bed, and efficiently retrieved her clothing, “well, this isn’t ‘goodbye’, I don’t think, but this is definitely ‘farewell for now’, I’m afraid.”

“Enjoy Norway,” Daphne murmured, as Harry pulled his own pants on, preparing to walk Padma down to his Floo, “bye for now.”

“See you later, Padma,” Pansy confirmed, nuzzling her head into Daphne’s arm.

As she drifted into sleep, Pansy thought that this was the _best_ way that the three of them could have spent their last chance to have fun for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> And that's the climax (:^P) of this particular little plot thread!
> 
> There's several reasons I chose to write this chapter this way:  
> * It's a breather chapter - there's going to be a lot more plot-focused chapters upcoming, and this one is just light and fun  
> * I wanted to show how the trio as a unit interact with a new person - rather than cheapening or weakening their relationship, this chapter is meant to reinforce it at several points. Daphne/Harry/Pansy are truly a **trio** , no matter the permutations involved  
> * While they're kind of stashed away in subtext, there's actually some character development for all three of Harry, Pansy, and Daphne that lays its roots in this chapter  
> * Writing a sex scene with four people is even more challenging than with three people, and I wanted to push my own limits as a smutfic writer  
> * Padma is basically the perfect person to be the first one to open the trio's doors to their established brand of non-monogamy: she has history with them (but not a lot), she's trustworthy to keep secrets, she doesn't have any existing biases towards or against any of the three, and she's explicitly a TEMPORARY partner both by her own preference and by the demands of her own life. These traits were almost all established in the last installment in this series (Padma spends most of her time out of Britain, Padma has a casual history with Harry, and she was hinted to be bisexual back then), none are random developments that I threw in for the sake of porn, but rather the porn scenes are what I see as a natural outcome of how these *characters* interact with each other  
> * The trio was **always** going to include other women in their relationship in different ways - this is a consequence of the types of characters they are, something that ties in to the plot structure of this series, and partially a result of how Magic works in my take on this setting. All three of these aspects were established as far back as the first installment, in some cases  
> * All of the chapters are named after synonyms or related terms for "party", and I couldn't _not_ use "Orgy" as a chapter title - using it for the trio's first foursome was just irresistible! 
> 
> Is this chapter porn? Yes, absolutely. Is Padma entering the plot irrelevant and merely an excuse to write this chapter? Absolutely **not**. Any of the sex scenes I write which have no _direct_ relevance to the characters or plot will either be contained to spin-offs or left as "fade to black" scenes. If there's a sex scene in the main series, it's relevant *somehow*, even if that relevance is not necessarily crucial. 
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> Up next is going to be more denouement, plot, and final groundwork for the next installment, followed by an epilogue. 
> 
> I'm aiming to start posting the next installment of this series - Blood and Bones - in December.
> 
> Reviews, comments, and suggestions are all welcome! Even if I don't take all the suggestions I receive, it's still useful for me to be able to justify my decisions.


	20. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of excerpts from the trio's lives in the week leading up to the Wizengamot reconvening, including:  
> \- Harry visits his godson  
> \- Pansy has a discussion about inner natures  
> \- Daphne gets into an argument about politics and family

Pansy

“This was a mistake,” Pansy groused, “I know that I said I wanted to do this, but, well, I fucked up.”

“We can’t stop now that we’ve already started,” Harry practically _gloated_ , “just deal with it a bit longer, Pans.”

“You’re torturing me,” she protested.

“Come on, Pans,” Daphne taunted – though Pansy was glad to see that she had a sheen of sweat on her face – as she panted for breath, “this _was_ your idea, so you have to deal with the consequences.”

 _I’ll show you “consequences”_ , she grumbled to herself.

Her body practically _burned,_ half with physical exertion, but half with _fury_.

In truth, the trio had made it a few laps around the grounds of Grimmauld Place, thanks to Pansy’s _absurd_ idea that she wanted to join Harry during his bloody _exercise_. At that moment, while it prickled her pride to admit, Pansy would have insisted that this was the greatest mistake that she’d ever made.

While she was a thin, _lithe_ woman, it seemed that her svelte build hadn’t conveyed any particular advantages in the area of fitness, judging from how her legs practically screamed at her as the three rounded their final lap.

When they _finally_ came to a halt, she was infuriated all over again when she noticed that while Harry’s skin glistened the slightest amount, he didn’t even appear to be out of breath, while Pansy slumped to the ground to flop flat on her back.

Daphne giggled beside her, and she couldn’t even summon the energy to reach out and pinch her girlfriend in retaliation.

“You did pretty good for your first time,” Harry summoned a glass of cool water from thin air, and Pansy _guzzled_ it, as even the chilly January air didn’t seem sufficient to douse the heat which coursed through her lungs.

“I’m regretting it already,” Pansy grumped, “what was I _thinking_? I’m a fucking Witch, can’t I just cast some kind of cardio spell? Brew up a potion of fitness?”

“You know as well as I do,” Daphne smirked, “that while our magic works to keep us _healthy_ to a certain extent, the benefits don’t quite extend to actually keeping us in good shape, in the same way.”

“Why _is_ that?” Harry wondered, running his fingers through his hair – _Merlin, he looks great when he’s sweaty –_ as he passed Daphne a similar glass of water, “I mean, I know the basics, ‘Wizardkind’ doesn’t age as quickly as Muggles do once we hit adulthood, non-magical diseases basically don’t affect us, all that, but _why_?”

“Well, you remember what Padma had talked about before, about the so-called magical presence each person has?” Daphne began to launch into one of her explanations, and Pansy smiled at her girlfriend’s enthusiasm for these kinds of academic topics, “it’s related to that. It _could_ be argued that Witches and wizards are actually Magical Beings, that our ability to use magic is because we have a different _nature_ when compared to Muggles.”

“You may have noticed,” Pansy drawled, “that it has certain benefits for you, Potter. After all, since you’re attending all these balls and galas now, _surely_ you’ve picked up on how a lot of Pureblood ladies look like they’re in their thirties _well_ after the fact.”

“Yeah?” her boyfriend seemed confused, which Pansy couldn’t help but grin at.

“That means that Daph and I,” she gestured to herself and their girlfriend, “are gonna stay this gorgeous for quite some time. You lucky dog, you.”

“Of course I am,” Harry chuckled, and Pansy suddenly imagined her boyfriend as an older man, with more weathered features, maybe some greying hair at his temples, but his eyes still sharp and bright.

She _liked_ this image that her mind had conjured up.

“Pansy more than myself, unfortunately,” Daphne had a teasing note in her voice, “after all, plenty of Pureblood men look their age, so it’s probably got something to do with _vanity_.”

“Me, vain?” Pansy crossed her hands over her heart, as if wounded, “I am _shocked_ that you would dare to describe me so accurately.”

Not that she agreed with Daphne’s _first_ statement. Pansy was fairly certain that her girlfriend’s beauty would only improve with age; she imagined Daphne’s few lingering qualities that could be called “girlish” giving way to a sophisticated and _regal_ countenance over time.

This image, as well, was one that Pansy found very appealing.

“I’m going to be even more of the odd one out than I already am,” Harry joked, “just wait until I get all doughy and soft around the middle, in my comfortable old age.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Daphne laughed, “you’re hardly the ‘odd one out’, you prat, you _know_ that you’re rather handsome.”

“Is he?” Pansy teased, “I suppose he’s got something of a quaint charm to him, if that’s your thing. I’d rate him somewhere around the seventh ‘Hottest Single Wizards’, myself.”

She referred to a recent _Witch Weekly_ article which had, in fact, placed Harry in the number one position, a ranking that she did _not_ intend to stop bringing up until Harry’s reactions ceased to be so _amusing_.

“Seventh, eh?” Harry grinned at her, “I can’t blame you, they still keep saying that Blaise is single, after all, to say nothing of my competition like Zacharias Smith…”

“Ugh,” Daphne groaned, “he looks like a _squirrel_.”

Pansy laughed at her girlfriend’s criticism; while the man in question had been something of a heart-throb when he was in Hufflepuff, _he_ had not aged well, and his personality did more to make him unappealing than even his not-great looks did.

“She’s not wrong,” Pansy agreed, “I suppose I could be convinced to give you the edge over him…”

She held her now-empty glass of water out towards Harry, waggling it expectantly at him.

When he waved his fingers in the air and sprayed cold water at _her_ instead of filling her glass, she shrieked in protest, before she snatched Daphne’s glass from her hands and splashed it on Harry as a counter-attack, darting behind her girlfriend to dodge Harry’s attempt to reach out and grab her, cackling all the while.

“You two are _impossible,_ ” Daphne sighed, before she whirled around to dig her fingers into Pansy’s sides, causing her to shriek-giggle even harder as Daphne tickled her, “you _know_ I’m going to team up against you when you start it, Pans.”

“I can take you both,” Pansy laughed, reaching around Daphne to flick Harry’s nose, “just try me.”

As it turned out, she _couldn’t_ handle their combined attack of tickling, pinches, and half-hearted swats to her arse, but she was more than happy to lose this particular battle.

* * *

Harry

He walked up the steps to the humble, yet cozy and “homey” house and knocked on the door. After a few moments, it opened, and Harry was greeted by his good friend Tonks.

“Wotcher, Harry,” her catchphrase had remained consistent over the years, “come on in.”

“Wotcher, Tonks,” he replied, looking down to the skinny boy with _shockingly_ green hair standing behind her, “oh, who’s this young man?”

“It’s me,” the boy protested, “Teddy!”

“It couldn’t be!” Harry made a show out of seeming flabbergasted, “Teddy isn’t anywhere _near_ as tall as you are!”

“I’m growing!” Teddy announced proudly, “I’m six now!”

 _I guess it has been that long,_ Harry mused, as he walked over to ruffle Teddy’s hair, kneeling to his godson’s level.

“Six, eh? Why, if I hadn’t been at your birthday party, I might’ve guessed that you were seven!”

“No, I’m not seven yet!” Teddy stuck his tongue out as he thought, “not for, umm, three months!”

“Oh, what a shame,” Harry spoke _very_ seriously, “and here I brought a gift for you… I suppose it’ll have to wait then, won’t it?”

“Uh,” Teddy thought about this, “I guess so?”

Harry grinned, and reached into his jacket to retrieve his present: a little toy dragon, charmed to prowl around and breathe (harmless) flames when ordered to.

“Well, I can’t keep this little fellow waiting, I’m afraid,” Harry watched as Teddy’s eyes grew wide, “so I guess you’ll just get a present a bit early, hey?”

“Thanks, Uncle Harry!” Teddy took the toy from Harry’s hands when he offered it forwards, before turning to his mum, excitedly explaining to her what he’d just been gifted.

As he rose to his feet, Harry felt a warm _contentedness_ with this reception. _Teddy’s a good kid,_ he thought, watching the young Metamorphmagus’s hair shift from green to pink and back as Teddy explained ” _this is a Welsh Green!”_ to Tonks.

“I figure I’ll hear about this for the next week,” Tonks joked, “go have a seat in the lounge, Harry, Remus’ll be right down.”

“Cheers,” Harry did just that.

He was often struck by the ways in which his godson seemed to have inherited an even split of both his parents’ personalities: Teddy was easily-excited like Tonks, but also enjoyed reading and learning in the same way that Remus did. Harry figured that the young boy would have to grow up some more before his own disposition became more obvious, but as it stood now, he apparently tended towards shyness around people he didn’t know.

This only made Harry even happier that his godson was always so exuberant and outgoing around him.

“Hey, Harry,” Remus greeted him, as he limped into the lounge. Remus had fought a _terrible_ duel against Fenrir Greyback at the Battle of Hogwarts, one which left him with wounds that lingered to the day, but Harry counted his blessings each and every day that Remus had _survived_ that fight.

“How’s things, Remus?” Harry asked.

“Oh, you know, two steps forwards, one step back,” Remus slumped into his armchair, “one step _sideways_.”

“Bill?” Harry could guess at what frustrations Remus was grumbling about.

“Bill.” Remus confirmed, “don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to speak ill of Molly’s boy behind his back or anything, but… _Merlin_ , he isn’t making things easy.”

“I’ll poke Ron to have a talk with him again at some point,” Harry said, “as you can imagine, Ron’s a bit wrapped up in his own ‘about to be a dad’ thing right now.”

“Oh, don’t trouble Ronald about it,” Remus shrugged, “it’s just _frustrating_. I feel like I’m backed into a corner where I wind up arguing against him being able to be open about who he is, but… these ‘ _wolf-blooded_ ’ that he’s made a movement out of are _such_ a pain in the arse.”

“I can see that,” Harry admitted. The so-called “wolf-blooded”, people like Bill who had been attacked by Werewolves (and yet not _infected_ by them) had sprung up as an unexpected new demographic, just another example of how things had changed after the Second Wizarding War.

“I’ve spent so much of my life arguing that we _aren’t_ controlled by our instincts,” Remus explained, “and here’s a group of famous young people, claiming the exact opposite. Ugh.”

This particular complaint also made sense to Harry. The wolf-blooded, and _particularly_ Bill Weasley, made a big deal out of their pack instincts (which had apparently resulted from a partial exposure to the Werewolf curse), making very public demonstrations to argue that their unique forms of relationships were valid, even if they were _peculiar_ to many people.

On the surface, Harry very much agreed with that argument, especially considering that his _own_ relationship was so non-conventional. Privately, Harry couldn’t help but feel – as hypocritical as he supposed he was being – that the whole “alphas and omegas” thing that Bill claimed as the reason he’d divorced Fleur and shacked up with Lavender almost immediately afterwards sounded a bit _iffy._

“Well, as it turns out, that’s part of the reason I wanted to drop by,” Harry described, “I dunno if you’ve heard, but, well, I’m getting involved in _politics_ , now, and I wanted to make sure that I can help out if I can.”

 _Teddy might very well wind up being seen as “wolf-blooded”,_ Harry left this thought unsaid, _and if I can help make the world a bit more accepting of him? There’s no way I_ couldn’t _do all that I can._

Remus just watched Harry for a few moments, before a sentimental grin crossed his features.

“You know, it’s funny,” Remus _almost_ sounded a bit sad, “you’ve been compared to your parents a lot over the years, I know you’ve heard people call you a young version of James, and you always reminded _me_ more of Lily.”

“I’d like to live up to them if I can,” Harry confessed.

“In recent years, you turned out more like _Sirius_ than I ever would have guessed,” Remus continued, “Merlin knows that he must be absolutely _thrilled_ that you have _two_ girlfriends, wherever he is,” he chuckled, “but I want you to know, Harry, that _all_ of them would be incredibly proud of the man you’ve become.”

“I just do what I can,” Harry shrugged, “and since Sirius saw fit to give his _House_ to me, I might as well try and use that influence for good, yeah?”

As Remus transitioned into a discussion about the current political concerns regarding Werewolves, the wolf-blooded, and both, Harry found himself lost in a sentimental train of thought of his own.

 _Teddy’s such an obvious combination of his parents,_ Harry pondered, _apparently, I’m a lot like both of mine_ and _my godfather, damn, I wonder what **my** kids are going to get from me._

He imagined all the different possibilities: Harry kind of half-dreaded the idea of raising a child with Pansy’s temper and his own impulsiveness, or his tendency to sulk combined with Daphne’s occasional defensive frostiness. To say nothing of the idea of either of their _ambition_ blended with his buried, darker tendencies.

_Then again…_

If he _did_ wind up having kids with his girlfriends, Harry also figured that the _many_ good qualities each woman possessed would – hopefully – provide enough of a wellspring to draw on that their children might wind up being as brave as Pansy, as smart as Daphne, or holding the same unshakable inner _strength_ they both had.

He was looking forward to finding out, some day.

* * *

Daphne

“Right, so, um, where’d you want to start?” Harry asked, scratching at the back of his neck.

“You’re quite literally the expert here,” Pansy drawled, “so whatever _you_ think, _Professor Potter._ ”

The trio had made their way to the duelling arena hidden away in a rarely-visited corner of 12 Grimmauld Place, setting out to begin the first of the “self-defence lessons” which Pansy had pushed Harry into offering his girlfriends.

Daphne found this idea just as appealing as Pansy did, though she suspected that her own interest was for different reasons; most obviously, she enjoyed _learning_ , and while combat magic wasn’t at the top of her list, she still looked forward to broadening her understanding of it.

Her secondary interest in this activity was to watch Pansy wind Harry up over the course of these lessons, which judging by the “Professor Potter” title she’d just invented, was already _well_ underway. Daphne smiled as Harry predictably rolled his eyes in response to Pansy, though he didn’t quite manage to disguise his own grin.

Daphne always enjoyed being around her partners, but it was just _fun_ to watch the two of them taunt and tease each other, and she had to admit she got her _own_ kicks out of joining in to team up against one or the other, her “allegiance” shifting quickly and unpredictably to keep the other two on their toes.

_As long as they don’t get into one of their pun wars…_

The third reason that Daphne was interested in Harry’s lessons was, unfortunately, a much more practical one. When the Wizengamot reconvened next week, Harry would be taking a significant step forwards into political society, and the plans that the trio had crafted also involved her _own_ re-entrance into that arena.

Though Daphne doubted that she was likely to come under literal _attack_ once she was in the public eye again, she couldn’t rule it out. A large part of her automatically assumed that Harry would be there to protect her if it ever came down to it, but the _rest_ of her insisted on being capable of taking care of _herself_.

“Okay, well,” Harry started to mumble to himself a bit, “I figure that I might as well try and get a grasp of where you’re starting at, yeah?”

“What, like a training duel?” Pansy asked.

“Absolutely not a _duel_ of any sort,” Harry stated, _emphatically_ , “this is just, er, practicing some spell-work together.”

“I agree,” Daphne interjected, “this is far from duelling, simply a hand-on form of magical instruction.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pansy rolled her eyes this time, “this isn’t a duel, so do I swear, blah blah blah. Let’s get to the _magic_!”

This was one of the few examples of one of Harry’s quirks that remained entirely a mystery to Daphne; before these lessons had begun, he had been _insistent_ (with a degree of seriousness she rarely saw from him) that he was **not** planning to engage in duels with Pansy or Daphne, and that he would not, under any circumstances, do so.

While it was true that an official “duel” carried some kind of magical weight behind it, Daphne was surprised at just how resolute Harry had been about this requirement. She wondered if it had something to do with an undisclosed trauma surrounding duels, but – given the confidence and _competence_ he’d displayed while taking on four opponents at the Winter Solstice Gala – suspected that probably wasn’t the full story. Whatever the reason behind this rule, it was one that he preferred not to discuss.

“Okay, right,” Harry strolled onto the arena floor, and Daphne swore that he held himself a bit straighter, his movements became a bit more _precise_ with every step, “when you two are ready, step onto the floor, and let’s see what you can do.”

Pansy stepped forward immediately, and Daphne smirked at her exuberance.

“Right, er,” Harry clarified, “let’s stick to spells that aren’t potentially-disfiguring, yeah?”

“Take all the fun out of it, why don’t you,” Pansy teased, “it’s not like either of us are going to _land_ anything, you know.”

Daphne idly twirled her wand between her fingers, then stepped forward to join Pansy, the two of them standing opposite Harry, who drew his own wand once his partners were ready.

“Alright,” Harry announced, “let’s get started. Go ahead and cast some attacks against me.”

 _“Expelliarmus!”_ Pansy cried as soon as Harry gave this signal, cheekily using Harry’s own signature spell against him.

Of course, the spell hit an invisible shield surrounding Harry, exploding into sparks as it disappeared.

“ _Petrificus Totalis!_ ” Pansy continued, casting a body-bind jinx, then following it with “ _Incarcerous!”_

 _Pungo,_ Daphne thought, flicking her wand and casting a stinging jinx wordlessly.

As expected, these spells were just as harmless against Harry, all three flickering away without requiring him to so much as move, let alone employ any counter-spells.

“Not bad,” Harry reviewed, “good job with the silent stinging jinx there, Daph. Pans, that’s basically rule one of fighting: if you can get away with casting something wordlessly, you really should. Calling your attacks is only worth it if they’re powerful enough to justify giving your opponent time to prepare.”

“Well, it _has_ been absolute ages since I’ve actually been in a-, umm, practiced magic with someone like this,” Pansy protested, “most of the spells I can pull off wordlessly are more along the lines of transfiguration, yeah?”

“Transfiguration can be useful!” Harry explained, “actually, transfiguring something to get in the way is one of the only three ways to counter the killing curse, and it’s more reliable than just dodging it.”

“What’s the third way?” Pansy asked.

“Being me, apparently,” Harry smirked, and Daphne felt an odd kind of _pride_ at how her boyfriend could joke about such a dark part of his history.

“Of course, how could I forget you’re the Chosen One,” Pansy teased, though she had a soft smile on her face as well, “well, I’m not exactly planning on going to _war_ , so let’s leave that one behind for now.”

“I agree,” Daphne added, “I’m rather hoping we don’t actually have to use _any_ of what you teach us, but I’d rather be prepared and not need it rather than _not_ being prepared.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” Harry nodded, “alright, let’s try that again, but Pans, this time, try and put more power behind your spells. Daph, you can do the same, or try hitting me with something a bit more advanced if you want.”

 _I can do that,_ Daphne recalled some of the childhood duels she’d engaged in as a Slytherin, where her proficiency with a certain spell was part of the reason that she’d earned her particular moniker.

On Harry’s signal, Daphne swished her wand through this familiar pattern, before she spoke “ _Glacius Vento_ ”, her tone even cooler than the ‘freezing wind’ spell. She knew that she was fully capable of casting this spell wordlessly, but chose to use the incantation to empower it, the brief ritual funneling more of her power into the magic.

“ _Stupefy!”_ Pansy shouted the stunning charm.

While Harry flicked his wand towards the icy air that erupted from Daphne’s wand, the jet of red light from Pansy’s slammed into Harry’s shield, which became visible around him in a sudden burst of golden light as he lurched backwards a half-step.

“Wow,” Harry seemed impressed, “fuck, Pans, you hit _hard_ when you want to. That almost got through my shield! You too, Daph, that one took some effort to counter-spell.”

“Huh,” Pansy pursed her lips, “don’t take this the wrong way, I’ve always been an absolute terror if you get on my bad side, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve never actually cast something that powerful before.”

“Yeah?” Harry wondered.

“It’s like I mentioned,” Daphne explained, “since the three of us are so close now, we’re going to wind up picking things up from each other, magically speaking. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Pansy’s drawing on some of your power, Harry.”

“Only fitting,” Pansy agreed, “for the sort of Witch I am.”

“Which sorta Witch?” Harry smirked at her.

“A _wicked_ witch,” Pansy finished.

 _Oh no,_ Daphne realized with exasperation, _they’re starting the wordplay._

“Since we’re so _wicked,_ ” she teased, deciding to humour Pansy for now, “why don’t you show us what we have to improve on with our defenses?”

“Oh, yeah!” Pansy seemed excited by the prospect, “show us what you can _really_ do, Potter, since we’re such _bad_ little Witches and all…”

Daphne waved her wand as she brought up a non-verbal _protego_ charm, the shield reaching to envelop her and Pansy both, as Pansy cast a spell which Daphne wasn’t familiar with, one that summoned floating motes of blue light in front of the pair.

“That’s how it is?” Harry grinned, “okay, here’s a bit of what _I_ can do…”

One moment, he stood a dozen paces in front of her, and the next, Daphne felt her shield _disintegrate,_ and something grabbed her body, hauling her sideways towards Pansy. When she looked down, she saw that they were both bound in ropes, and Harry now stood behind them, a confident smirk on his face.

“Fuck, what _was_ that?” Pansy wriggled against their bindings, but she sounded impressed.

“Apparition, shield-breaker, counter-spell, and _Incarcerous_ ,” Harry answered, “that’s why casting wordlessly is what I want you to work on, it’s so much _faster_ than spoken spells.”

“You weren’t really taking the four idiots you duelled at the gala seriously, were you?” Daphne wondered.

“Er, uh, not really,” Harry seemed to return to his more typical brand of bashfulness, “I kind of wanted to show off a little, I suppose.”

“You should show off more often,” Pansy suggested, and Daphne agreed with her.

“We’ll see about that,” Harry muttered, as he waved his wand to dismiss his spell, only to be interrupted by Pansy’s latest interjection.

“Wait!” Pansy announced, and Harry paused with one eyebrow raised.

“It took me _forever_ to get you to tie me up,” Pansy’s voice lowered to a _purr_ , “you’re telling me all I had to do was wave my wand at you a bit?”

Daphne laughed out loud at this; her girlfriend’s shamelessness was _equally_ as enjoyable as the blush that appeared on Harry’s face when he understood what she meant.

* * *

Pansy

Pansy sipped her coffee, idly inspecting her nails while she waited at a café. While she was certainly _acquainted_ with the woman, she wouldn’t consider Fleur Delacour one of her _friends_ per se, which made this apparent social invitation a curious one to her.

“Ah, _bonjour,_ Pansy,” the woman in question appeared – as always, a veritable _vision_ – dressed in grey slacks, a cream blouse, and an _enormous_ white mink fur coat.

“Hello, Fleur,” Pansy stood to greet her, and resisted the urge to make an ‘ _eep’_ of surprise when the French woman brought her into a sudden embrace.

“Happy ‘olidays! I know it is somewhat belated, at this point, but it is ze spirit that counts, _non_?” the way that Fleur’s accent appeared and disappeared seemingly at a whim never ceased to frustrate Pansy, and she half-suspected that Fleur did this _intentionally_.

“Yeah, same to you,” Pansy agreed, returning to her seat, “you spend them back in France?”

 _“Oui,”_ Fleur replied, “I spent the winter solstice with my family.”

“And how are all the various Delacours?”

“Ah, no,” Fleur grinned, and there was more than a hint of a _predatory_ gleam in her expression, “wiz my _other_ family.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Fleur flagged down a passing server, ordering a complex drink with no less than six different specifications, “if I am thankful for anything about my relationship with William, it was zat he gave me the inspiration to start being more _authentique_ to my own nature.”

“What’s that involve?” Pansy was curious, “I know you’ve got the whole, well, _allure_ thing already, is it related to that?”

“Hmm,” Fleur pondered this question for a moment, before flicking her wand in a subtle motion, “zere, now we may speak privately. My answer is yes, but also _non_. The _sang de loup_ are not the only ones who possess certain _instincts,_ and I have decided that I will start _indulging_ myself, _oui_?”

“Right, yeah, I’ve heard about some of that,” Pansy nodded, as Fleur’s drink arrived, and the server only _just_ managed to disguise his outright awe at Fleur while he delivered it, “they’re driven to form packs, yeah? Some kind of ‘alpha wolf’ sort of thing involved in that?”

“More or less,” Fleur took a sip of her _ridiculous_ beverage, piled high with whipped cream, and it was actually unfair how not a smudge of that garnish lingered on her lips, “zat was the problem with William and I, really. He says he is driven to be ze ‘alpha’, and yet he was, in the end, incapable of truly dominating me.”

“So, the Veela equivalent,” Pansy wondered, “you’re driven to be… submissive?”

This didn’t seem to line up with Pansy’s impressions of Fleur, but then again neither did it seem _inaccurate_ from what Fleur had occasionally mentioned of her single life.

“Once more,” Fleur answered, “yes, but no. We Veela are somewhat more… complex, in our inner nature, than ozzer magic people might be. It is said that we descend from nature spirits, somewhat like ze _“nymphs”_ of Greek legends, and our impulses certainly appear to be, hmm, _moody_ enough to give credence to zis belief.”

 _Fuck, it’s pretty obvious that “nymph” would be a suitable term for Veela,_ Pansy thought.

“We are similarly _mercurielle_ in the sorts of partners we tend to seek,” Fleur continued, “Veela seek to _dominate_ most people, the hurtful stories about a Veela woman entrancing an entire village of men are inaccurate more in their _pettiness_ than in the underlying motivation, _oui_?”

“There’s definitely something to be said about using one’s charms to get what one desires, yeah,” Pansy agreed, fighting back the heat that rose at the back of her neck as she recalled the time she’d inadvertently fallen under Fleur’s _allure_.

“The other side of this drive,” Fleur paused to delicately sip her drink once again, “is to seek those rare people who are _magnificent_ enough to stand dominant over even a Veela.”

“Which Bill Weasley, obviously, wasn’t.”

“ _Oui,_ ” Fleur sounded a bit wistful, at most, but certainly not _regretful_ or anything like that, “I do not begrudge him for his own nature, and he is truly an impressive man in many regards… but not _that_ impressive. He tried his best to be as _magnifique_ as I desired, but, hmm, could not.”

“I’ve known the type,” Pansy concurred, “always a bit frustrating when someone claims to be more capable than they actually are.”

“It is much better,” Fleur agreed, “when someone is _more_ capable than they claim.”

“That’s frustrating in its own way,” Pansy snorted, thinking of her constant struggle to draw more of the _powerful,_ almost _domineering_ side out of Harry, when compared to her boyfriend’s more usual easy-going and people-pleasing tendencies.

 _Definitely not the worst problem to have,_ Pansy knew, _and it’s fun in its own way to keep pushing him to get more dominant… but **fuck,** did I ever enjoy seeing him throwing his power around at the gala. _

“Oh?” Fleur leaned forward, her eyes glittering in a positively _magical_ way, “is zat an issue with Harry?”

 _I forget how clever she is,_ Pansy realized, _for as straightforward and open as she presents herself, she’s a more capable schemer than half of bloody Slytherin could ever dream to be._

“As you say, _oui, but non,_ ” Pansy answered nonchalantly, “he’s by _far_ the best man I’ve ever been with, but I think he forgets that I’m not a fragile little doll, sometimes.”

“Are you not?” Fleur smirked, “you are so _petit,_ after all! But I am happy to hear that you are happy, ‘arry is a _great_ man, he deserves such a woman in his life.”

“ _Women_ , absolutely,” Pansy returned the smirk.

“On that note, I am curious,” Fleur had a gleam in her eye which sent an _interesting_ thrill down Pansy’s spine, “how _did_ that come to happen? I do not know Daphne so well as I would like, but she seems a bit… well, _timid_ , to be with someone so prominent as Harry.”

“Heh,” Pansy chuckled, “yeah, honestly, she can take a while to warm up to people, but there’s nothing ‘timid’ about her when she’s on a roll.”

Pansy wondered about this particular _dynamic_ being discussed; she knew that Daphne was a little bit intimidated by Fleur ( _understandable,_ Pansy thought), but Pansy could only imagine that her girlfriend would be _fascinated_ by the discussion about the magical nature of Veela which she herself saw as an idle curiosity. 

“Ah, _très bien,_ ” Fleur replied, “I suppose she would have to have some fire, to pursue Harry and you at once. Am I correct to presume that she was a later addition to your _ménage à trois_?”

“Not really,” Pansy shrugged, “it was kind of… well, it just wound up happening, really. It was all three of us from the start, but I don’t think any of us three saw things working out this way at the beginning.”

“How fortuitous,” Fleur smirked, “I must admit, I was almost disappointed when ‘arry introduced you two as his women, I had something of an idea that you might have made a diverting partner in _libertine_ pursuits, _non_?”

“Hah,” Pansy laughed, “I’m sure we can still go out drinking, it’s not like I’ve retired from having a social life. Besides,” she couched this question as a joke, but was honestly curious at how Fleur might answer, “weren’t you more disappointed that I took Harry off the market, hmm?”

“Mmm,” Fleur’s smirk deepened into that _predatory_ sort of look again, “it is true that Harry is _très exceptionnel_ , but _non_ , I do not seek to find ‘ _the one_ ’ any time soon. I am single for ze first time as a grown woman, a mature _Veela_ , and I do intend to enjoy this.”

“Well, it sounds like you have been,” Pansy’s curiosity wasn’t quite sated, “but _I’ll_ admit that surprises me. I’ve always kind of assumed there was _some_ sort of history there, really.”

“No, no,” Fleur tittered, high and musical, “when I met him, ‘e was but a boy. An impressive one, _oui_ , but _young_. I do suppose,” her voice dropped to a conspiratorial level, “I _was_ his first kiss, as it happens, but zat was just a friendly gesture after Harry saved _ma souer_ at the Triwizard Tournament.”

 _Right,_ Pansy recalled, _Harry_ did _rescue Gabrielle Delacour in the second task, I almost forgot about that._

“Anyway,” Fleur continued, “you have nothing to fear from me, _ma chérie,_ I would not care to pursue a taken man, no matter how _magnificent_ he might be.”

Pansy _almost_ felt like mentioning that Harry – while indeed “taken” – might still be _available_ in some ways, but instinctually felt like it wouldn’t be right to reveal that aspect of their relationship to Fleur. _Sleeping with Padma was fucking great,_ Pansy thought, _but explicitly temporary, and easy to keep uncomplicated and no-strings._

In a way that was almost paradoxical, bringing another woman into their bedroom had seemed to reinforce and strengthen the relationship between Harry, Daphne, and herself, but Pansy had an unshakable feeling that it would be the wrong time to discuss this with Fleur.

“Well, glad to hear that,” Pansy joked, replying to Fleur, “but anyways, what’s up? I enjoy the conversation, but I doubt that you invited me out for coffee to gossip about my relationship.”

“Astute as ever,” Fleur met Pansy’s bluntness with as much grace as she did _everything_ , “I actually wished to discuss my next wardrobe I wish to commission. I am afraid that you will have to retake my measurements, one of the effects of accepting my Veela nature is zat I will, hm, _change,_ to a degree.”

“Oh?”

“ _Oui,_ ” Fleur explained, “I have already grown slightly taller, and I expect that my proportions will become more graceful.”

 _Well, that’s just fucking unfair,_ Pansy thought (slightly ruefully), _you’re already a veritable goddess of beauty, and now you’re going to be literally **inhumanly** good-looking? Morgana, it’s almost hard to imagine._

Pansy put those ideas aside ( _for now_ ), shifting seamlessly into this more practical topic of conversation, as she and Fleur spent the next hour discussing the latest trends that the blonde had seen during her visit to France.

* * *

Harry

_This is nice,_ Harry thought, basking in the warm contentedness he felt, seated on his couch, with Daphne beside him, and Pansy comfortably curled up in a way that she was both in the middle of them and halfway on their laps at the same time.

The trio had dedicated their early evening to watching an old Muggle film on Harry’s TV, one of the benefits of Ron’s work into integrating technology into Wizarding households. The wards surrounding the device worked to stave off the flow of magic from ruining the screen, allowing the trio to watch “ _12 Angry Men”,_ a classic from the fifties.

“Fuck, that was great,” Pansy reviewed as the film ended, “I can see why you recommended it, Harry.”

“I agree,” Daphne added, “and I can _also_ tell why you liked it, Pans: that was a very effective demonstration of different sorts of social manipulation in action.”

The movie was one that centered around a jury deliberation, showing a fictional case where a single juror argued against a guilty verdict, slowly coming to convince the other eleven of his stance over the course of the film. It was, apparently, renowned as a character study, and Harry was glad that Hermione had recommended it to him.

“But it was manipulation used for _good_ , yeah?” Pansy nuzzled into Daphne’s side, as the blonde began to play with her girlfriend’s hair, “isn’t that what we’re here for, after all? Using our devious Slytherin charms to help the hero boy navigate his trials?”

“The hero boy?” Harry acted unimpressed, teasing Pansy with his blasé response.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry,” she rolled her eyes, “the hero _man_ , right.”

“The comparison actually isn’t that off,” Daphne added, “the protagonist, ‘Davis’, he _did_ argue for what was right no matter the odds against him, that’s not exactly unlike you, Harry.”

“I’m hardly a hero,” Harry grumbled, “but… yeah, I guess I’ll do the right thing when I can, and you two _are_ a huge help in figuring out how to actually manage that.”

“You’re _obviously_ a hero, you prat,” Pansy wiggled her feet into Harry’s lap, pushing her toes into the side of his knee, “if nothing else, for the fact that you managed to tame _Pansy Parkinson,_ somehow.”

“Ah, yes,” Daphne giggled, “because you are _definitely_ a tame and domesticated woman now, practically _demure,_ absolutely.”

“Oh, I’m entirely innocent,” Pansy grinned in a way which proved she wasn’t, “really, it’s Daphne we should watch out for, Harry, you know how those Slytherins are too clever for their own good, well, she’s the most intimidating of that lot.”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Harry brushed his fingers against the back of her knees, causing her to twitch from being tickled, “and _definitely_ the most devious out of the three of us.”

“Hmm, are you sure about that?” Daphne smiled at him, “after all, you’ve done a _very_ good job at convincing us that you’re a simple, straightforward sort, completely blind to any forms of subtlety… perhaps that’s what you _want_ us to think.”

“The fearsome Lord Potter-Black,” Pansy intoned, “is indeed a dangerous man. It’s said that he can turn lead into gold, dragons into shoes, and even Draco Malfoy into a _chipper, Quidditch-watching solid bloke._ ”

“I wonder if the legends about me,” Harry stroked his chin, acting as if he were deep in thought, “will remember to mention the _unrelenting mockery_ that I suffer from, tormented in my very home by a silver-tongued serpent.”

“You love it,” Pansy stuck her tongue out at him.

“I do,” Harry chuckled, reaching over to stroke her arm affectionately, “I really do love the both of you. I wouldn’t have a hope at handling all this political bullshite about to start up if it wasn’t for you two.”

“We love you too,” Daphne smiled, “and I agree. I’d never have dreamed of getting involved with that again, and I’m hardly _thrilled_ about the idea, but knowing that I have you and Pansy by my side makes it easier to handle.”

“ _Obviously_ I love the two of you,” Pansy pulled Daphne and Harry closer for emphasis, “sentimental saps that you may be, but I don’t think it’s going to be as bad as you two fear. Maybe it’s because my role is limited to showing up at parties and looking pretty, which is hardly a struggle for me, but I think that you’ll have it handled better than you expect.”

“You _are_ good at being pretty,” Harry agreed, teasingly, “but give yourself more credit, Pans. You’re basically our ear in the socialite sphere, the rumors and gossip you’ve dug up has already helped us to plan ahead.”

“Ooh, I do rather fancy being a spy,” Pansy dropped her voice into a lower register, mimicking a vaguely Eastern European accent of some sort, “I will need your dress size, Mrs. Purebloodington, along with your darkest secrets.”

“’Purebloodington’?” Daphne laughed, “is that what you call your customers?”

“Might as well, for some of them,” Pansy shrugged, “but there’s some exceptions, I suppose. Actually, while I’m thinking of it, I’ve got tea with Narcissa coming up in a couple weeks, want me to work my _magic_ on her to dig for anything in particular?”

“Hmm,” Daphne pondered, “Narcissa Black would be an _excellent_ ally if she threw in with us, but I have a hard time imagining that even _you_ could manage to manipulate her into revealing anything she didn’t already want to, Pans.”

“Draco’s already pretty much committed to voting however I do,” Harry stated, “House Malfoy might not be as influential as it was before, but that’s hardly a bad thing, considering that he’s turned it in the right direction and all.”

“Our generation is really looking a lot better,” Daphne added, “in forty years or so, why, we might even manage to become something approaching _progressive_ as a society.”

“That’s probably why the old fucks are so desperate to cling to power,” Pansy agreed, “but you and Daph have got it handled, Harry, I actually believe in you.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, unsure how to handle this level of sincerity, “let’s move on to something else for now, though? We’ve hardly got a week left before that’ll be _all_ we talk about, and I’m not looking forward to that.”

“Well, I was actually thinking,” Pansy grinned at him, “we should really plan your _outfits_ , since you’re a fancy Pureblood lad now, hey?”

“That almost seems worse,” Harry groaned, but he couldn’t help but grin anyways.

“Unless you plan to show up to Wizengamot sessions in your dragonhide armour,” Daphne teased, “that’s actually an important suggestion.”

“I was thinking more like ripped up jeans, a t-shirt with a Muggle band on it,” Harry joked, “maybe one of those big hats that Muggle blokes are wearing now, yeah?”

“Harry,” Pansy poked him in the ribs, “I absolutely adore you, but I swear to Merlin I will dump you on the spot if you ever show up wearing a _bucket hat_.”

The three broke into giggles together, and Harry treasured this opportunity to simply _relax_ with his girlfriends. While he might not have ever _considered_ that he’d wind up dating Pansy or Daphne before it happened, once they’d entered his life, he’d quickly come to discover that he couldn’t imagine a future without them.

* * *

Daphne

“So,” Daphne blew into her mug of tea, which was _piping_ hot thanks to Astoria’s half-magical kettle going well past ‘boiling’, “what’s on your mind, ‘stori?”

“I’m far too pregnant to be subtle,” her sister grumbled – indeed, she was _enormous_ at this point, not that Daphne would use that phrase in front of her – while staring at her own tea, “I’m going to give birth any day now, and I want to make sure that certain _issues_ are addressed before I do.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be blunt, Daph,” Astoria met her eyes, uncharacteristically serious, “I know that you’re working on something with Harry to oppose father’s latest bill, and while I’m definitely on your side when it comes to that, I need to make sure you’re not planning anything _too_ rash.”

“Well…” Daphne _trusted_ Astoria, and she was confident that anything they discussed would **not** find its way back to their father, but at the same time understood that Heiress Greengrass had certain obligations to meet, “I wouldn’t say ‘rash’, no, but we _are_ planning to do everything we can to stop his bill from passing.”

“The Wizengamot’s one thing,” Astoria grumbled, “and if I was worried about that, I’d have your boyfriend sitting here, and I’d tell him to at least _try_ not to duel anyone for a while, but no, that’s not what concerns me.”

“What is your concern, then?”

“I’m going to be a _mother_ , Daph,” Astoria sounded breathless, as if even she couldn’t believe it, “and our child is going to be the next heir to House Greengrass. I want you to be there, I want you to be part of their life, but you _know_ that our parents are also going to be involved, and I’m not going to have my child exposed to you and father going for each other’s throats all the time.”

“I’m quite willing to be civil if he will,” Daphne replied coolly, “but I’m not going to tolerate it if he starts treating me as if I were _livestock_ to be sold, ‘stori.”

“I’ve already talked to him,” Astoria admitted, “and I’ve made it quite clear that while he is _indeed_ the head of our House, and my child’s grandfather, that he will _not_ have command of their upbringing.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Daphne said, “I rather expect that Molly Weasley would have his head if he tried, anyways.”

“That’s actually a good segue,” Astoria continued, “the Weasley family, sure, they can be a _lot_ , but the biggest difference I noticed when I started becoming part of that family was how much they all _care_ for each other. I know that father was awful to you, and I’m not excusing his actions, but I still hope that one day my child will be able to see that _both_ sides of his family are actual, well, _families_.”

“You know that I can’t promise that,” Daphne protested, “if he ever _really_ apologized to me, and begged for my forgiveness? Possibly. But it sure doesn’t seem as if father is turning over any kind of new leaf, if anything, the allies that he’s surrounding himself with are _worse_ than his old ones.”

“Yes, that troubles me too,” Astoria agreed, “he’d always been so _calculated_ in ensuring that he protected us from the worst sorts of traditionalists, but some of the men he’s fallen in with… barely two steps removed from Death Eaters, it seems.”

“He’s a prideful, _arrogant_ man,” Daphne spat, “it must rankle him that he hasn’t been anointed the uncontested leader of our society, and apparently he’s decided to kowtow to the absolute _dregs_ of the Pureblood families.”

“I understand that I won’t convince you of this,” Astoria argued, “but if I know our father… I doubt that he has only _one_ reason for his actions, that he’s restricted himself to a single plan. I hope you understand, Daph, that while I agree with you in private, I’m going to act as the most stereotypical Greengrass in public, yeah?”

“Neutral?” Daphne grumbled, knowing full well her family’s reputation.

“Exactly,” Astoria confirmed, “I love you, and I want to support you in the ways that I _can,_ but you simply can’t count on my allegiance in politics.”

“I know,” Daphne sighed, “and I wouldn’t expect you to publicly join our side. I hate that I’m even mixed up in this all over again, but I simply _can’t_ stand back and do nothing while people I care about are threatened.”

“Well, I hate to say it,” Astoria grinned, her expression not matching her words, “but you really _should_ have expected that you’d wind up in the public eye again once you started dating Harry.”

“The whole ‘Lord Potter-Black’ nonsense wasn’t _anywhere_ near involved in that choice,” Daphne argued, “Morgana, he hates politics almost as much as I do!”

“I’m well aware,” Astoria hummed, “I _am_ actually pretty good friends with Harry, remember? I’m absolutely thrilled that the two of you are together, I’m even happy that you found Pansy too, which is why I’m still going to _insist_ that you at least _try_ not to let politics cause irreparable harm to your _family_.”

“Astoria,” Daphne bit, “I love you too, and I want to be in your child’s life… but you _can’t_ ask me to forgive father. Not with how he’s treated me, and certainly not with how he doesn’t seem to feel the slightest hint of regret for his actions.”

“I’m not asking you to forgive him!” Astoria cried, “fuck, I know that! I’m asking you to _play nice_ , for your sake, for my sake, and for my _child’s_ sake!”

 _It’s awfully fucking unfair for you to use your child as a pawn,_ Daphne thought, her emotions freezing over, _you’re starting to sound like our father, Astoria._

“Look, I’m not getting involved in the public debate,” Astoria continued, her voice rising to a point near hysteria, “but I’m not _stupid,_ Daph, I can _see_ what you and Harry are planning. Faking a public courtship when you’re already together, using Susan Bones as a lightning rod to attract your enemies so that Harry can destroy them? You might hate it, but damn it, you’re _better_ at playing the game than you give yourself credit for.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” Daphne snapped.

“It’s also not _wrong_ ,” Astoria retaliated, before taking a deep breath, “I didn’t intend to argue with you today, and I’m _sorry_ that I ambushed you with politics and our father, but I’m trying to look out for you, and surely you can see that.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Daphne grumbled, “but I’m not actually mad at _you_ , ‘stori, I’m just mad about… well, everything else.”

“I said I’d be honest with you,” Astoria replied, “and I’m too bloody emotional to play little Slytherin games right now. You don’t have to tell me your plans, I know that I haven’t really earned that trust, but I’m trying to _help_ right now.”

“By using my niece or nephew to try and convince me to be ‘nice’ to father?” Daphne scoffed.

“ _Yes_ ,” Astoria sighed, “fuck. I hate this too. Okay, what I mean is… you and Harry, you’re a good pair, and that’s _obvious_ even to people that don’t know either of you. It’s clever, using your relationship to craft a fiction about traditional ‘courtship’ to muddle the webs of allegiance in the eyes of the noble families, and I _do_ mean that as a compliment.”

“And that ties back to acting like a good little Pureblood woman how, exactly?”

“The ploy you’ve created will disintegrate if you have another public falling-out with father,” Astoria frowned, “and instead of allowing people to believe that the courtship between Houses Potter-Black and Greengrass is a sign of an olive branch being extended, will turn it into an avenue for the traditionalists to _attack_ you and Harry, to portray him as a ruthless manipulator who uses his opponent’s _families_ against them.”

“That’s…” Daphne sighed deeply, “that’s a good point. I hadn’t thought about that outcome.”

“ _I’m_ pretty good at playing this game too, as it turns out,” Astoria smiled weakly, “which is why I’m trying to _help_ you in the limited way that I can. Fuck,” she cursed, “you don’t have to _forgive_ father, but it’s going to help your own plans if you can be _polite_ to him, that’s all I’m saying.”

“How does that tie into your child, though?” Daphne let her fury drain out of her, knowing that Astoria was _correct_ even if she didn’t want to hear the words.

“I was being honest about wanting them to grow up feeling like _**both**_ sides of their family support and care for them,” Astoria explained, “and while, bluntly, our father is just _worse_ than any of the Weasleys are, I’m still harbouring a faint hope that becoming a grandparent will at least _soften_ him a bit.”

“Probably have more luck convincing a dragon to become a lapdog,” Daphne shrugged, “but I suppose stranger things have happened.”

“For all that he can be an utter _dickhead,”_ Astoria swore, and Daphne couldn’t help but giggle at her choice of phrase, “our father is, above all else, a _pragmatic_ sort of man. I’m not trying to predict anything, but who knows, maybe if he sees that he has the opportunity to join with Harry as an _ally_ of some sort, he’d see reason to disentangle himself from his more recent compatriots.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Daphne sipped her tea, which had finally cooled enough to become drinkable.

“Above all else,” Astoria reached to place her hand on Daphne’s, and Daphne let her sister mend the disagreement between them, “I don’t want my child growing up as the heir to a House which fell into the Dark, I don’t want them burdened by a legacy where their godfather _destroyed_ their grandfather after they became bitter enemies.”

“I don’t want that either,” Daphne admitted, running her thumb against Astoria’s palm, “I’m sorry for getting upset. You’re in a delicate condition after all, I should be more understanding.”

“’Delicate condition’,” Astoria snorted, “now _that_ wasn’t any sort of compliment, pfft.”

The two sisters laughed together as the last remnants of their argument dissipated, and the more that Daphne thought about it, the more that she began to understand the points that Astoria had made.

“I wish it was easier,” Daphne murmured.

“We’re _Greengrasses,_ ” Astoria stated, “nothing about us is ‘easy’. Besides, if you were looking for simplicity and normalcy, then you shouldn’t have started dating Harry fucking Potter.”

“Heh,” Daphne chuckled, “yeah, that’s true.”

“ _Or_ Pansy fucking Parkinson,” Astoria continued, “Merlin, I _still_ wonder how you two managed to defang her, sometimes. Harry’s one thing, but _yeesh_ , I dread to think of the warpath that _she’d_ go on if she thought that you needed defending.”

“Mhmm,” Daphne nodded, “they’re both quite fierce, in their own ways.”

“Good,” Astoria beamed at her, “someone as _strong_ as you needs to be challenged. I’ve always admired that about you, Daph.”

“I’ve always admired how you’re not afraid to argue your case,” Daphne smiled in return.

While she wasn’t quite as confident as Astoria that Harry and herself would manage to navigate the complicated political conflict they’d become embroiled in, Daphne _was_ certain that Pansy would be steadfastly at their sides, and this helped to reassure her that small, crucial amount.

 _The three of us together **are** rather formidable, _Daphne thought, _why, if we put our minds to it, we might well be able to change the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks a sort of secondary denouement for (Revel)ations, and builds up a number of different topics which are going to become prominent in the next installment!
> 
> I'm particularly curious to hear how Astoria is received: I intend her to be a reflection of Daphne in many ways, with similar life experiences _except_ that she was never placed under as much pressure as Daphne had been. She's just as stubborn and willful as Daphne is, and much like her older sister, I _want_ her to come off as kind of cold at times, but I hope that I depicted it clearly that the two sisters genuinely love and support each other, even if they might butt heads on certain issues.
> 
> As always, I'd like to hear your reviews, comments, and feedbacks both on this chapter, and on (Revel)ations as a whole! I employed some ~themes~ writing this chapter, and I'm curious if that was even noticeable :P 
> 
> Up next is an epilogue chapter which will establish some more plot details, and then I'll start Blood and Bones sometime in December (unless I get antsy and begin it earlier).
> 
> In the mean time, I've been idly thinking of a few different ideas I might want to write in between these two Triplicity installments, but I'll also continue my tradition of taking requests and suggestions from my readers every time I finish one of these installments - no promises on what might catch my interest, but I enjoy getting this kind of inspiration! Hit me with your ideas!
> 
> Otherwise, some of the concepts I've been kicking around are:  
> \- Harry/Fleur one-shot, unrelated to any of my other universes  
> \- Totally self-indulgent AU of _this_ setting, showing a variation of the Daphne/Harry/Pansy relationship in a non-magical college, without as much smut  
> \- Harry/Katie Bell one or two-shot, set in the Triplicity universe but an unrelated prequel otherwise 
> 
> If any of these sound super interesting, feel free to let me know that too!


	21. Epilogue: Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Revelations come to an end, Susan gets an invitation to an unexpected inner circle, where she learns some more about the trials and tribulations that Harry might face in the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a whole bunch of plot

Susan

The meeting room deep in the interior of the Ministry of Magic sure _felt_ like it was a suitable site for scheming, if not general _skulduggery_ , most of the room consisting of an enormous oak table at the center, surrounded by positively ominous tufted-leather seats that looked more fit for some supervillain's lair than they did for a _meeting_.

 _It doesn’t help that they’ve decided to light the room with candles, of all things,_ Susan thought, _I **know** that you've got a perfectly functional magical light system rigged up here, don't you?_

“Good evening, Lady Bones,” Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted her, “thank you for accepting our invitation, I’m quite certain that we pursue a common goal.”

“Right,” Susan was _fairly_ sure that she agreed, “well, it’s not every day I get called on by the Minister himself, yeah?”

As she took a seat, so too did Susan take stock of the other four people already sitting around the table: The Minister of Magic, Shacklebolt, was – of course – unmistakable, looking authoritative if not practically _regal_ in his deep purple dress robes. Auror Nymphadora Tonks was similarly unforgettable, which Susan thought was a bit hilarious given that the Metamorphmagus could look like _anyone_.

The final two people weren’t quite as famous as their compatriots, but Susan recognized them all the same: the Head Auror Gawain Robards, a burly-ish man who constantly looked as if he was in desperate need of a coffee, and his second-in-command Nigel Proudfoot, a lanky man who always seemed as if he’d had one cup of coffee _too many_.

 _Pretty much the “who’s who” of the DMLE,_ Susan figured, _wonder what they want with me?_

“Before we get down to brass tacks, can we get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” Robards asked her, almost making Susan snort as he lived up to her earlier characterization of his appearance.

“Well, I figure if the four of you want to speak to me in private,” Susan answered, “the situation probably calls for a glass of that scotch I see over there,” she gestured towards a decanter at the side of the room, “that sounds just fine to me.”

Tonks _did_ snort in laughter at her response. _Always did get along with her,_ Susan reminisced, _I might not have been part of the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix, but I paid my dues, yeah?_

“I’m sure that you’re curious why we invited you here tonight,” Kingsley intoned, his voice deep and _resonant_ , “and while I don’t wish this to sound overly wary, I _would_ appreciate your discretion regarding the matters that we have to discuss.”

“Right, sure,” Susan agreed, “what ‘matters’ are these, anyways?”

“We’ve been paying attention to your career in politics,” Robards answered this time, as Proudfoot returned to the table with Susan’s glass of scotch in hand, “and we’ve found it particularly _interesting_ the sorts of enemies you’ve found as of late.”

“Ah, of course,” Susan nodded, “the Burkes, Yaxleys and Selwyns of the world – a bunch of sanctimonious old pillocks, yeah?”

“Members of families with _long_ histories of practicing Dark Arts, that is,” Robards clarified, “while the current crop of Lords holding their family seats have never been _proven_ to have associated with Dark Wizards… well, let’s just say that the Aurors’ office has certain _misgivings_.”

“Oh, believe me,” Susan grinned, “if I had anything concrete on _any_ of them, I’d happily turn it over in a heartbeat. Sadly, I haven’t got anything to go on other than the fact that they’re all, well, pricks.”

“Heh,” Tonks chuckled, “you’ve got that right.”

“The reason that we bring this up,” Kingsley stepped in, “relates to a number of different factors. Some are ongoing, others are only hypothetical, and others still are _potential_ causes for concern.”

“Such as?” Susan’s curiosity was most definitely piqued.

“Are you familiar with the arrest of one Wesley Rosier, last summer?” Robards asked her.

“Can’t say I am.”

“We busted him for possession and smuggling of Dark Artefacts,” Tonks explained, “and he was moving some _real_ nasty work, worse than we’d expected to find in the hands of a crooked accountant.”

“So, what, you figure he’s got _patrons_ of some sort?” Susan knew that there was still a Lord Rosier sitting in the Wizengamot, though she couldn’t really recall any particular interactions she’d had with him.

“Just so,” Robards agreed, “we investigated a number of suspects, and while our suspicions weren’t exactly assuaged, the leads that we chased down didn’t seem to lead to the source of the particular artefact that Rosier was holding.”

“Which brings me to the offer I want to make,” Kingsley interjected, “should you accept, then there’s information and intelligence that we wish to share with you, but as it’s particularly _sensitive_ , it’s better that we lay our cards on the table before we get to that point.”

“Well,” Susan thought for moment, “what’s your offer, then?”

“The interim DMLE head, Chester Davies, is planning on returning to his previous posting with Improper Use of Magic,” Kingsley spoke, and Susan began to worry about what sort of ‘offer’ came with a _backstory_ , “and I’m quite hopeful that my good friend here, Head Auror Robards, will take his place.”

“Yeah?” Susan didn’t see how this applied to her, “well, congratulations, Auror Robards, I’m sure you’ll be brilliant and all.”

“I know that you’ve already done more to fight against Dark Wizardry than someone your age should have had to,” Robards spoke this time, “and while I want to be clear that this is not an _obligation_ of any sort, I would like to offer you the position of deputy department head.”

 _Whew,_ Susan sat back in the enormous leather chair, sipping her glass of scotch, _that’s quite the offer, actually._

“I can’t say that I had anticipated this,” Susan answered honestly, “but, hmm, not to sound ungrateful or anything, why me?”

“A number of reasons,” Robards actually _smiled_ , though the expression just looked vaguely strained on his face, “as we mentioned, we’ve been following your career in the Wizengamot with interest, and I think that you’ve got the political savvy _and_ the guts to be effective in this role.”

“As a seated Lady of a Noble House,” Kingsley added, “one of the political realities is that you would bring a specific sort of _legitimacy_ to a department which still has a number of detractors.”

“If Robards here doesn’t take the spot,” Tonks jumped in, “word on the street is there’s a push to put fuckin’ _John_ _Dawlish_ in the position.”

“Dawlish?” Susan remembered _that_ particular ex-Auror quite well, “didn’t he get locked up after the war?”

“Found not guilty,” Tonks grumbled, “apparently he was victim of a Confundus Charm, possibly influenced by the Imperius Curse, all that.”

“What these two _aren’t_ telling you,” Auror Proudfoot interjected, “is that there’s something of a tradition in the DMLE that they need you to carry on.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not really a _tradition_ ,” Robards sighed, “it’s just a coincidence that every generation, there’s been a Bones in the department.”

 _Right, yeah, Aunt Amelia was the department head,_ Susan remembered, _Granduncle Reginald was head Auror back in the day, and Great-Grandad Samuel was a hit-wizard or something. Huh._

“It certainly isn’t an actual _oath_ or anything of the sort,” Kingsley cut in, “but as it turns out, it _is_ a trend that's held true ever since the days of Phrixus of Kent, the ‘Lord o’ Bones’ himself.”

This ancient ancestor of Susan’s had, from the family legends she’d heard, not been a particularly _nice_ sort of man. It was true, nevertheless, that he'd been a staunch ally of the faction which eventually turned into the "Wizard's Council", itself a predecessor of the Ministry of Magic.

 _You don’t wind up naming your House “Bones” because you’re known for being soft and pleasant to deal with,_ Susan recalled one of the stories that her Aunt had told her, _but rather for what he had a habit of turning his enemies into._

“Right, yeah,” Susan finally replied, “I’m not sure about the whole ‘legacy of Bones’ thing, but as far as the job offer itself goes… yeah, I figure that’s up my alley.”

“Fantastic!” Kingsley boomed, “now, once more, I must apologize for seeming overly-paranoid, but I’ll have to ask you to swear on this commitment before we continue this particular conversation.”

Susan did so, smoothly rattling off the various forms of oaths that would serve to ensure that she would make a genuine commitment to this offer _without_ managing to trap herself in an inescapable bond or a contract which served to ensnare her – _justified_ _paranoia goes both ways, yeah?_

“Excellent, with that settled,” Kingsley spoke, “Gawain, would you give the _full_ report now, if you please?”

“During our investigations into who might have supplied Wesley Rosier with a Shrine of Sorrow,” Robards started ( _phew, that **is** some dark shite, _Susan thought), “we began to notice some particularly concerning rumors arising from the shadiest corners of the underworld.”

“Nobody’s sure of anything,” Tonks interjected, “and it’s all rumors and hearsay at _best_ , but if even a quarter of what people are yapping about is true… well, it’s _not good_.”

“Fantastic,” Susan groaned, “ugh, I thought we’d get a bit of a break from this sort of bullshite.”

“The battle against Dark Magic is an eternal one,” Kingsley spoke solemnly, “our hard-fought victory was a great triumph, but now our enemies become all the more pernicious as they retreat underground.”

“While we’ve made great strides at clearing out practitioners of the Dark Arts from Magical Britain,” Robards elaborated, “this simply means that _new_ sorts of threats arise across the continent.”

 _Well, at least I might get a bit of a vacation out of going around stomping out hives of Dark Wizards,_ Susan thought grimly.

“Our agents in Europe have reported that several competing Neo-Grindelwaldist factions are attempting to recruit,” Robards continued, “and while we were indeed _very_ successful at capturing most of the surviving Death Eaters after the defeat of their lord, some managed to escape our nets and have fled across a half-dozen countries.”

“Augustus Rookwood was spotted in Sweden,” Proudfoot added, “but he’s either caught on to our tail or ran afoul of someone worse than him, because nobody’s reported hide nor hair of him for months.”

“Scandinavia in general is a bit of a hotspot right now,” Tonks provided, “there’s a clan of Werewolves who move across the north – the ‘ _Fenrisbrot’_ – who seem to be getting themselves riled up for some sort of ‘blood feud’ against Wizardkind in general.”

 _“Fenrisbrot”,_ Susan sounded out the word in her thoughts, _wonder if Greyback had anything to do with them?_

“Thankfully, the Delacours are as effective as ever at keeping matters in France in hand,” Robards reported, “and the Court of the Dragon King has been roused from their slumber in Magical Romania. While I would hesitate to call _them_ anything resembling ‘Light’, they are _no_ friends of anyone adhering to Grindelwald’s cause.”

“Right, how did that even become a thing again?” Susan wondered, “old Grindles lost pretty convincingly a _few_ times, yeah?”

“Dark Wizards are just as prone to politicking and opportunism as the Ministry is,” Kingsley hummed, “the deaths of both Dumbledore and the former ‘dark lord’ have left a power vacuum of a sort, and some particularly _fanatical_ types might see themselves as stepping in to fill it.”

“Well, that’s pretty unlikely,” Susan argued, “we’ve still got McGonagall and Flitwick standing guard,” she almost felt strange saying the next words, “not to mention Granger, and of course, _Potter_.”

“Harry’s brilliant,” Tonks agreed, “but he doesn’t have the _reputation_ that Dumbledore did, not yet, at least.”

“That’s actually one of our concerns,” Robards interjected, “perhaps even the most pressing.”

“Oh?” Susan frowned.

“We know that you’re _close_ with Harry Potter,” Kingsley spoke, “and the recent ploy to portray him as ‘betrothed’ to you is one that the Ministry won’t interfere with.”

Susan felt a spike of suspicion settle in her gut, as she felt her face snap into a grimace. She flicked her gaze towards Tonks, who she knew was also in on the secret of Harry’s _real_ relationship, but the pink-haired (for now) Auror just shrugged and nodded her head towards her boss.

“Harry’s secrets _are_ safe with us,” Robards explained, “and we have our own sources _outside_ this room who handle the keeping of any particularly _intimate_ sorts of information, such as his actual relationship status.”

“All of us sitting here are on Harry’s side,” Proudfoot concurred, “which makes it all the more unpleasant that there’s certain _concerns_ we have which must be kept from him.”

“Hmm,” Susan muttered, “nope, don’t like that. What could possibly be so secret that the fuckin’ _Man-Who-Won_ can’t know about it?”

Robards and Kingsley shared a look, and after a slow moment of contemplation, the Minister of Magic nodded.

“We have an agent inside Azkaban,” Robards expounded, “who sends us _worrying_ reports. It seems as if Rabastan Lestrange has started a _cult_ of some sort, which has not only caught on like wildfire amongst the former Death Eaters imprisoned there, but seems to be gaining momentum _outside_ the prison.”

“And this relates to Harry _how_?” Susan demanded.

“They’re calling themselves ‘Followers of the Fated Child’,” Robards stated, and the phrase meant absolutely nothing to Susan, “while we haven’t been able to ascertain what this means or even _how_ this new belief came to arise, we’re concerned for what it might mean for Harry, specifically.”

“Some of the Neo-Grindlewaldists,” Kingsley spoke up, “seem to believe that Harry is the latest inheritor of a _legacy_ of some sort, an unclear belief tied to their veneration of the mythical ‘Deathly Hallows’, itself a legend which has proven to be frustratingly opaque to our understanding.”

“Wait, what?” Susan _really_ didn’t like where this was going, “are you telling me that some of these lunatics think that _Harry_ is their next Dark Lord?”

“We don’t know,” Tonks didn’t _shout_ , but she came close, “that’s what worries us the most.”

“An equally concerning possibility,” Proudfoot spoke this time, “is that they’re using these legends as _bait_ for something; to ensnare Harry in a fiction about placing him in a position of honour in their beliefs, only to spring some sort of trap on him when he inevitably disagrees in his characteristically _emphatic_ fashion.”

“That’s why we’re keeping this from him,” Tonks grumbled, “imagine if Harry catches wind of fuckin’ thrice-damned Lestrange building a cult around _him_ , storms into Azkaban to demonstrate just how wrong this is, and stumbles right into the middle of some dark ritual we haven’t managed to catch.”

 _Fuck, that **is** exactly how I’d set a trap for Harry if I wanted to, _Susan realized, _well, that or I’d kidnap someone he cares about..._

“Fuck,” Susan decided to voice her thoughts, “what about Harry’s, er, ‘ _relationships’,_ then? Are those possible targets?”

“All of us are _possible_ targets,” Tonks sighed, “constant vigilance, Bones.”

“The most relevant reason that we decided to approach you now,” Kingsley took his turn to speak, “is, indeed, the political schemes which you and Harry are enacting.”

“Oh?”

“Your opponents in the Wizengamot,” Kingsley continued, “how would you characterize them?”

“Purebloods, mostly,” Susan didn’t hesitate, “usually older than us, mostly men, quite a few of them are fairly wealthy, and the entire lot of them have more pride than brains.”

“Precisely,” Kingsley agreed, “in other words, the exact demographic which would be most susceptible to the rhetoric of various Pureblood-supremacist, pro-Dark Arts, or anti-Ministry movements.”

“So, you recruited me to…?” Susan gave herself the credit she was due, but knew that she was failing to connect these different pieces together.

“Really, we don’t intend for you to do anything else than what you already would have,” Robards explained, “keep an eye out for any of the Noble Lords who seem to be getting a bit too _Dark_ for their own good, pay attention to any rumours or whispers that there’s a particular threat to your safety, the usual common sense.”

“We wanted you to be forewarned with the knowledge that there’s conspiracies in action which _we_ don’t know the full extent of,” Kingsley finished, “and that some of these actors may or may not be targeting Harry in some way, which itself might be a ploy to try and bait him into exposing himself.”

“Yeah, great, ideal, really,” Susan complained, “so how do we actually _stop_ these fuckers?”

“We wait,” Robards spoke with _authority_ , “and when they finally reveal themselves, we _crush_ them.”

“Houses Potter-Black and Bones would make fearsome allies, true,” Proudfoot added, “but _Harry Potter_ could use someone in his corner who knows what mysterious forces are moving around him, and we decided that you’d be the best fit.”

 _That_ was the first thing that someone had said in a long time which actually made sense to Susan.

 _Fuck’s sake, Harry,_ she tried to recount this discussion to herself, _this is a right mess, innit? We’re going to be faking a “relationship” as part of a scheme to try and convince the bloody-minded Purebloods not to sabotage themselves **and** the rest of us out of sheer spite, _and _the whole time_ _I’ve got to keep my eyes open for various snake-brained lunatics who might think you’re their new chosen one, or maybe they’re scheming to try and draw you into something..._

 _Merlin’s beard, Morgana’s tits, and Maeve’s sacred fuckin’ mead,_ she cursed in her thoughts, _by the end of all this, we’re either going to hate each other, or we’re going to wind up fuckin’ inseparable, yeah?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who even remembers the raid on Rosier back in _The World's A Stage_??? Well, it turns out that that whole thing has more relevance than it seemed like at the time ;)
> 
> This is the end of this particular installment, and it marks the introduction of a whole **bunch** of plot angles, all of which arise from little details which were sprinkled throughout this story and its predecessor.
> 
> I'm looking forward to hearing reactions, feedback, and speculation as to what some of these different threads might lead to!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I count myself lucky to have an active and dedicated group of readers :)


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